


Across The Herring Pond

by InterestingInterpretation (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternative Meeting, M/M, RPF, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-12-11 21:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11723289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/InterestingInterpretation
Summary: If Benedict portrayed Sherlock in Elementary, with Matt Smith in the BBC production instead, Benedict and Martin may never have met. A chance remark on a talk show sets up an opportunity for them to work together as Sherlock and John for the first time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly this is a work of fiction. No actual inspiration from any real people has been used other than physical descriptions. I in no way intend to convey that any part of this, including the emotions, reactions and personal preferences of the people depicted, or the events that occur within, is a reflection of real life. 
> 
> It's fictional, peeps. Please enjoy it as such. <3
> 
> Meta Refs at the end.

_Interview transcript: The Late Late Show CBS_

James Corden: _[with blatantly false gravitas]_ My next guest and I have one big thing in common – the UK was too small for our prodigious talent. We were ostracised for our tremendous capacity on stage and screen alike. Only here, in America, have we found the admiration and downright worship we deserve. _[laughter]_ I do a late night TV show, complete with endearing British accent; he does a not so late night TV show, complete with endearing British accent. People can’t believe it when I tell them my full name. _[‘James Kimberley Corden’ flashes across the screen. Laughter.]_

James: Something he is all too familiar with. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Benedict Timothy Carlton Cumberbatch!

_[Wild applause and catcalls. Benedict comes striding out wearing a well fitted midnight blue suit, white shirt, mid-blue tie. He waves and smiles at the crowd before greeting Corden familiarly.]_

James: Hi Ben, hi, have a seat.

Benedict: Thank you. It’s great to be here.

James: Finally! My people have been talking to your people…

Benedict: _[nods emphatically]_ Yeah, yeah, things have been crazy, after the Emmys.

James: _[throws hands up]_ The Emmys! You won for best Drama, right?

Benedict: _[looks a little embarrassed]_ The show did well, yes. We won…we won a few. _A huge number **7** flashes on the screen behind him. [throws an endearing look at the audience, who cheer and applaud]_

James: Yeah, the show did well, but you won a few awards this season, if I’m not mistaken. I mean, you personally, not the show.

_[List appears on screen behind them.]_

_Prime Time Emmy: Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series_

_Prime Time Emmy: Outstanding Narrator_

_Screen Actors’ Guild: Outstanding Performance By A Male Actor in a Lead Role_

_People’s Choice Awards: Best Lead Actor (TV Drama Series)_

_Marie Claire: Hottest Man on TV_

_Tvdotcom.com: Best Shirt Off Scene_

_Tvdotcom.com: Sexiest Accent_

_MTV TV: Funniest On-Screen Kiss_

Benedict: _[looks even more embarrassed]_ Wow, it’s quite a list when you put it all together like that.

James: It is indeed, it is indeed.

Benedict: At least some of them are for my actual work. I mean ‘ _Hottest Man on TV’_ is more about genetics than acting ability, really. That’s not really something I should get an award for.

James: Maybe your parents. Like, ‘Congratulations for getting it right!’

Benedict: _[laughs]_ Yeah, the exact combination of genes to make this face, well done! _[indicates his own face]_

James: Yeah, but Elementary has been really well received here. You must be so pleased.

Benedict: Yes, we’ve worked really hard on it, Robert is just so, so clever, bringing all the bits and pieces of Sherlock, and John and Mycroft and all the other characters we know from Conan Doyle’s work to life. And on the other side of the world, a hundred and…twenty odd years later. It’s such a privilege to be part of something that successfully crosses the pond. _[grins]_ Kind of like bringing culture to the masses, if you like.

_[good natured boos]_

James: I’d be nice if I was you, that’s your viewing audience out there.

Benedict: I know, I know, I was joking. Seriously, it’s lovely to be able to take something that’s so English and bring it over here and, without offending the millions of people who live here, keep a sense of the Englishness. And in New York, which is the first place so many people think of when they think of America.

James: And what about at home? Do you know how it’s being received over there?

Benedict: Well I’ve heard some things, some good, some a little more critical. You’ll always get that, I guess.

James: True. We have some of the tweets that have come out with the hashtag #ElementaryNYC.

 _[Tweets appear onscreen_ ]

 _Sherlock in America? Um, no._ _#ElementaryNYC_

_Sherlock spills tea on his ‘pants’? In England that doesn’t mean what you think it means… #ElementaryNYC_

_No way NYC is cold enough for that coat all year round #unrealistic #neversummer #ElementaryNYC_

_Sherlock doesn’t know NYC like London. How could he? #notanative #expat #thebritisharecoming #ElementaryNYC_

_Somehow ‘Apartment B, 221 West 43 rd Street’ isn’t quite the same #bakerstreet4ever #ElementaryNYC_

Benedict: Wow, well, there was always going to be some people who hate the idea of taking Sherlock out of London.

James: Well, there’s the comparisons too, which must make it hard. Do you get asked about that a lot?

  
Benedict: All the time, all the time. It’s like the Scottish Play, we never say the name of it, it’s _[makes air quotes]_ ‘The English Show’.

James: _[laughs]_ The English Show. I’m not sure how the Scottish writer of that show would feel about that, but I see your point.

Benedict: Well the comparisons are a bit moot, you know? There are so many variations, and it’s no different to seeing Spiderman and The Amazing Spiderman – it’s just a different way of exploring the same characters in different situations.

James: What about John Watson becoming Joan Watson? That’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?

Benedict: Well it wasn’t my idea, first off. But the dynamic works, I mean it does to me. She’s not a love interest, we’ve made that really clear from the start, so you get rid of all the sexual tension storylines, and you can just concentrate on the relationship, the platonic relationship developing between them.

James: Do you think she should be a love interest?

Benedict: No, I don’t. Half the point of Sherlock is that he’s removed himself from that, from the demands of his body to concentrate on his work. A romantic interest wouldn’t make sense. Not in our show, at least.

James: What about Sh…sorry, _[does air quotes]_ ‘The English Show’. There’s quite a lot of fan work pairing their Sherlock and their John together.

Benedict: _[shifts uncomfortably]_ Ah yes, ‘Johnlock’.

James: So what do you think about that?

Benedict: Well, it’s not something we’re looking at doing. The beauty of the relationship between Sherlock and Watson is how in tune they become to each other, how much they need each other in their day to day lives. Sex or the absence of it doesn’t really contribute to that. In my opinion.

James: Fair enough. So, on your show…hang on, if they’re The English Show, are you the American Show?

Benedict: _[matter of fact]_ No, we’re the best.

_[Oooh]_

James: Benedict Cumberbatch, that’s a bit of a gauntlet thrown, I think.

Benedict: _[laughing]_ Well, what do you want me to say? _[stares directly down the camera and speaks with blatant insincerity]_ Hi people who work on The English Show. I’m sorry we’ve won more awards than you, that we have a bigger budget than you, and that we’ve been picked up for another two seasons.

James: _[laughing]_ Oooh, harsh, Benedict.

Benedict: _[still grinning]_ It’s a laugh, I’m sure Matt and Martin and everyone knows it. _[shrugs]_ Sherlock was just ready to expand his world beyond the reach of the Crown, that’s all. _[grins broadly]_

James: Well, everyone from British Sherlock, Matt or Martin or anyone from the show if you’re watching this, I love your show. Don’t be shy, tweet me or whatever if you want a right of reply.

Benedict: _[laughing]_ Might have started something here.

James: You might, mate. _[turns to the audience]_ Ladies and gentleman, let’s thank Benedict Cumberbatch for his time tonight!

_Audience applauds, music rises over images. Cut to ads._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta References  
> o James Corden (OBE) is a Tony award winning stage actor as well as an experienced TV actor and writer. He really is a Brit hosting a late night talk show in the US (check out him hosting the 2016 Tonys, he was awesome). And Kimberley really is his middle name!  
> o ‘Robert’ is Robert Doherty, who created Elementary.  
> o Stage actors are a superstitious lot, and many refer to Shakespeare’s Macbeth as ‘The Scottish Play’, refusing to name the play, especially in a theatre.  
> Any errors in the depiction of television production, the role of personal staff or other technical details are my own and have been twisted to my own evil purposes. I make no apologies for them. : x


	2. Chapter 2

_Interview transcript: The Graham Norton Show, BBC One_

Graham: _[Pretends to trip over something. To camera, theatrically]_ Who put that body there? Come on, we have a show to do! Ohhhh, there’s a mystery here to solve! Good thing my guests tonight are all here from the BBC’s _Sherlock_! _[Wild applause]_ Let’s start the show!

Graham: _[on the stage in front of the couch]_ The genius of Sherlock Holmes, it’s Matt Smith! The ever faithful sidekick, it’s Martin Freeman! And one of the men behind it all, Steven Moffatt!

_[applause as they settle on the couch, Matt Smith in a light grey suit, white shirt and dark grey tie; Martin Freeman in a mid-grey three piece suit, yellow shirt and dark spotted tie; Steven Moffatt in navy jeans, charcoal jacket and blue open necked shirt]_

Martin: I have a bit of an issue with the term ‘sidekick’, Graham. I think ‘co-star’ is a better phrase, don’t you?

Graham: Well the show is called Sherlock…

Martin: Yeah, well John has far more screen time, it’s told from his point of view.

Matt: Sherlock has more lines, though.

Martin: Only because he can’t shut it, the self-centred git.

Matt: _[points at Steven]_ Blame him!

Steven: _[grinning]_ It probably is my fault. Though Mark wrote that huge deduction in front of the fire, you know, in Hounds of Baskerville. That was him.

Matt: Yeah, on my script he’d just written, ‘Sorry Matt.’

Martin: Not that sorry or he’d have cut it down. _[Smirks]_

Graham: _[to audience]_ I don’t even need to be here for this, this is great. _[to cast]_ Sounds like there’s a lot of fun on set.

Martin and Matt: Yeah.                                        

Matt: We do have a lot of fun.

Martin: It’s bloody hard work, if there wasn’t some fun…yeah, it’d be a pretty grim place. Nobody’d show up.

Matt: It is hard work. I mean, learning the lines, and a lot of Sherlock’s stuff is monologue, you know, so there’s no one to bounce it off, to work with…

Martin: _[interrupts]_ …to prompt you when you forget your bit.

Matt: Hey, that happened once.

_[laughter]_

Matt: _[defensively]_ You’re the one that goes off script all the time, I never know what the hell’s going on!

Graham _[to Steven]_ : Does he?

Steven: He does.

Martin: _[unapologetic]_ I do. But actors don’t always need the words. Sometimes I look at the script and just go, ‘I can do all that with a look’. _[shrugs]_ John Watson’s not a chatty man. He doesn’t natter on, he expresses himself with his face and body. Sherlock is the same in a lot of ways, I mean he talks a lot but he’s very expressive with his body, too. That’s why Matt is so brilliant, he’s very physical.

Matt: Oh, thanks, man.

Graham _[to Steven]_ : Is that why you cast him, Steven?

Steven: Yes, well, Mark and I had talked about what we thought Sherlock would be like, but we didn’t want to go into the process with too much of a preconceived idea. We knew he had to be young, far younger than Jeremy Brett or Basil Rathbone. He would be energetic, almost manic at times, and very expressive with his face and body. _[shrugs]_ We wanted to have an open mind, see who came and who had the right kind of presence. I think that’s more important than his physical appearance, is how he dominates the space he’s in. And Matt does that so well.

Graham _[to Matt]_ : Now, is it true that you’d already seen Steven the previous week?

Matt: Yeah, yes. I’d auditioned for _Who_ , they were looking for someone to replace David Tennant, and I’d auditioned for Steven already. We’d already signed and everything, then I get a message to call him.

Graham: You must have thought…

Matt: Yeah, I wondered how I’d gotten fired before we’d even really started. _[laughter]_ And then he said, look I’m working on this other show, and I think you’d be perfect for that, will you come and read with the other guy we’ve already cast.

Martin: That’s me. _[points emphatically to himself]_ _Co-star_. Cast first. _[Laughter]_

Matt: So I thought, well I can’t say no, what if he really does fire me? I met Martin, and learned what the show was about, and yeah, I was on board. We’d already filmed some stuff for _Who_ , so they used that for the first part of _The Eleventh Hour_ , then we just shot a regeneration scene and… _[shrug]_

Graham: You became the shortest serving Doctor.

Matt: _[nods]_ Less than twelve minutes screen time. Not even a whole episode. Anyway, Steven organised all the stuff with _Who_ , and I went from _Doctor Who_ to _Sherlock_ in like two weeks? _[question to Steven]_

Steven: Yes, I knew we could cast another Doctor far more easily than casting the right Sherlock. We’d found Martin already, so we needed someone to complement what he brought to the table.

Graham: You must have been kicking yourself. ‘Damn it, I’ve got just the guy but he’s on the wrong show!’

Steven: Yes, it took a bit of convincing to get everyone on board. Actually, _[glances at Matt]_ people probably don’t know that Matt was only signed on for one season of _Who_ anyway – he was always going to be a short-term Doctor. So we’d lined up the next Doctor anyway, Peter Capaldi, I just had to call him and say, ‘So, if you want to start earlier…’

Graham: Perfect!

_[Murmurs of agreement from the couch]_

Graham: So the show’s been going well, you’ve got quite the fan base now.

Matt: Yes, our fans are _[shot of wild fans holding signs, placards]_ lovely. _[Laughter]_

Graham: I saw one sign that said _[hesitantly]_ ‘Johnlock’?

 _[Matt and Martin look at each other in amusement]_ Martin: Yes, some of the fans are fans of John and Sherlock being together.

Graham: Together?

Martin: Boyfriends. John, Sherlock, Johnlock.

Graham: And they’re quite enthusiastic about that, aren’t they?

Matt: I can see that look on your face, Graham. You’ve been on the fan sites haven’t you? _[Laughter. Matt to Martin]_ , Oh, God, he’ll have the drawings…

Graham: Indeed, some fans are particularly talented…

_[Shot of fluffy fan art on screen. Awwww from the audience]_

Graham: Oh, see that’s sweet, cuddling on the couch. Maybe they’re just good friends, I mean I do that all the time with my friends, right? _[Cast nod, a little resignedly]_

_[Shot of fluffy-but-shirtless-in-bed fan art on screen. Mix of Awww and catcalls from the audience]_

Graham: And there, I mean, it’s clearly they’re together in this one, but it’s not that…

_[Shot of graphic Johnlock on screen, parts are blurred out but John is clearly well endowed. Catcalls from the audience]_

Matt: _[covers face]_ Oh God.

Martin: _[raises eyebrows]_ I think I’m getting a bit more, um, credit there…

Graham: Hey, at least you’re human in those ones.

_[Montage of catlock, tunalock, merman-lock, hedgehog/otterlock images on screen]_

Graham _[to Steven]_ : How do you feel about all this? It’s not quite what’s in the show, is it.

Steven: I wouldn’t say it’s canon, no. _[Laughter. He seems to grope for the right words]_ Look, I’m glad people are enjoying our show.

Graham: _[triumphantly]_ Ahhh! Well not everyone. _[Cast looks a little confused]_

Graham: Because there’s another Sherlock Holmes at the moment, isn’t there?

_[Image of Benedict as Sherlock in Elementary on screen. Cast shrugs at each other]_

Graham _[mainly to audience]_ : That’s Benedict Cumberbatch in Elementary, where Sherlock lives in New York instead of London. _[Cast nod, waiting for a question]_

Graham: Ben was on James Corden last night, have you seen it? _[Cast shake heads]_ Oh, well he and James had a little chat about how well his show is doing, all their awards and things, and your show came up. Well, actually…look, this is what happened.

_[Cut to clip from The Late Late Show]_

Benedict: _[shifts uncomfortably]_ Ah yes, ‘Johnlock’. 

James: So what do you think about that?

Benedict: Well, it’s not something we’re looking at doing. The beauty of the relationship between Sherlock and Watson is how in tune they become to each other, how much they need each other in their day to day lives. Sex or the absence of it doesn’t really contribute to that. In my opinion.

James: Fair enough. So, on your show…hang on, if they’re The English Show, are you the American Show?

Benedict: _[matter of fact]_ No, we’re the best.

_ [Oooh] _

James: Benedict Cumberbatch, that’s a bit of a gauntlet thrown, I think.

Benedict: _[laughing]_ Well, what do you want me to say? _[stares directly down the camera and speaks with blatant insincerity]_ Hi people who work on The English Show. I’m sorry we’ve won more awards than you, that we have a bigger budget than you, and that we’ve been picked up for another two seasons.

James: _[laughing]_ Oooh, harsh, Benedict.

Benedict: _[still grinning]_ It’s a laugh, I’m sure Matt and Martin and everyone knows it. _[shrugs]_ Sherlock was just ready to expand his world beyond the reach of the Crown, that’s all. _[grins broadly]_

James: Well, everyone from British Sherlock, Matt or Martin or anyone from the show if you’re watching this, I love your show. Don’t be shy, tweet me or whatever if you want a right of reply.

Benedict: _[laughing]_ Might have started something here.

James: You might, mate. _[turns to the audience]_ Ladies and gentleman, lets thank Benedict Cumberbatch for his time tonight!

_[Back to Graham Norton]_

Graham: So! Those upstart Americans looking to split from the Motherland, eh?

Matt: _[grinning broadly]_ Ah well, it’s great that there’s enough interest for all of us. I mean, we get to make our show and they get to make theirs at the same time? That’s pretty cool.

Graham: Martin, you don’t look too pleased.

Martin: _[faux scowl]_ Yeah, that’s a bit…I…haven’t seen that clip until right now. I’m not sure how Benedict defines quality but given that British and American TV shows don’t compete against each other for awards it’s a bit difficult to rank them, isn’t it? Hang on, you know what _[beckons to a cameraman, who zooms in on a headshot. He looks directly into the camera, scowl deepening_ ] Hi Benedict and the cast of The Traitor – that’s what _we_ call _your_ show – this is Martin Freeman, the real John Watson, that’s J-O-H-N. Such a pity the spell check didn’t pick that up on your scripts. Bit awkward. Anyway, if you’d like some tips on making an authentic Sherlock Holmes show, feel free to come over to London and we’ll show you how it’s done. I’m sure we can find time between accepting BAFTA nominations and shooting our next season.

_[Ooooohhhh from the audience, Matt and Steven shaking their heads and laughing]_

Graham: Well I think the challenge has been accepted, Benedict Cumberbatch!

Martin: _[still scowling]_ Damn right it has.

Graham: Okay then, up next - the Big Red Chair!

_[Audience applauds, music rises as camera pans over audience.]_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta References  
> o Graham Norton is a very funny talk show host, based in London, who has all his guests sitting on the same couch and talking to each other. Often their conversation runs away and he just watches it go! He specialises in finding embarrassing tidbits from the inter-web and getting them to talk about it.  
> o Much of the interview conversation, on Graham Norton in particular, includes small bits from DVD commentaries, interviews and other sources about the production and cast of Sherlock.  
> o Matt Smith actually did audition for the part of John Watson, but they’d already cast Benedict and didn’t want someone so physically similar. Very soon after, he was cast as The Doctor.  
> o Mark is Mark Gatiss, co-creator of Sherlock with Steven Moffatt.  
> o Martin Freeman is known for cutting lines and conveying the meaning instead with his face and body.  
> o Martin and Benedict were both in the Hobbit, and the only reason they were on set together was that Benedict visited Martin in New Zealand (they’d started on Sherlock together by then). It’s pretty much impossible that they’d have not met on the publicity tour, though.  
> Any errors in the depiction of television production, the role of personal staff or other technical details are my own and have been twisted to my own evil purposes. I make no apologies for them. : x


	3. Chapter 3

Benedict hadn’t expected to get a call from his publicist quite so early in the morning.

“Hey, Katie,” he yawned. He didn’t bother asking what was happening, she’d start talking before he’d finished her name.

“Did you see Graham Norton last night? Of course you didn’t, why would you? Well get your arse out of bed and Google Sherlock and Graham Norton or something. Martin Freeman’s taken up that stupid challenge you threw down, and the internet is in meltdown. BENEDICT!” she shouted, knowing he would tune her out if she kept going too long.

“Yeah! Yes. Doing it right now,” he replied sleepily. She stayed on the line – as he expected – as he watched the interview with the Sherlock cast.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, stretching his shoulders out.

“I’ve had Graham Norton’s people, James Corden’s people, Martin’s publicist – everyone wants to get this going, Benedict, so you need to decide if you were serious or not.”

“Serious about what?” Benedict asked. His brain was not awake enough to deal with this yet.

Katie blew out a breath of exasperation. “This friendly feud. Martin’s challenged you to go to London to do some kind of Sherlock challenge. Graham’s people want you and Martin to do some kind of skit on his show; James wants you to agree to appear on his show probably to do the same kind of thing. Martin’s publicist is keen to work together to keep this going for a bit, maybe until the Oscars, when you’ll both be on the same continent and we can arrange something. BENED-”

“Yes, I’m listening, Katie,” he cut her off, his brain still processing. “Seriously, he saw that bit on James’ show? God, I was just messing around.” He watched the clip from Graham Norton again. “Do I have time to get across to London and back?” He wracked his brain. What was his schedule like in the next week or so?

“The only thing you have locked in is that talk with Tom, but that can be moved. A few phone interviews, plus you’re meant to be learning the script for the next Avengers shoot.”

“Right.” Benedict replied blankly.

“So…” Katie prompted.

“Just, give me a bit of time to think, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll call you in an hour.” Before he could reply, Katie had hung up on him. Snorting in annoyance, Benedict threw his phone onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t know why he’d said that on James’ show. He’d watched a couple of the episodes of the BBC show, and it wasn’t terrible. The mini-series format meant it was different enough to avoid too many direct comparisons with _Elementary;_ of course there would be some judgement, but they were hardly in competition. He was just trying to be funny, really, to cover some of the discomfort he’d been feeling at that point. At the mention of Johnlock.

He’d never even met Martin, for God’s sake. They’d a nodding acquaintance at awards ceremonies, but it was a curious twist of fate that they’d never even appeared on the same talk show, despite both working on _The Hobbit_. People generally thought they knew each other because of that series; the truth was that their schedules had precluded their meeting at all, even during promos. Benedict had been based in the US for quite a while; between _Elementary_ and the _Avengers_ Series, he had found precious little time to return to the UK, where Martin spent most of his time. There hadn’t been a chance for them to cross paths. Until now.

For some reason he was a little nervous about this whole idea. Having never met Martin, he had no idea how serious he’d been with that scowl. It was possible he was genuinely offended by Benedict’s jest. His stomach fluttered. There really was no way around this, he was going to have to go along with it or risk looking foolish. Well, if that was the case, he’d rather get it over with.

Without any more prevarication, he grabbed his phone and called Katie. “As soon as possible,” he said without preamble.

“Right,” she replied. “Linda – Martin’s publicist – and I have already worked out the details with the TV guys. I knew you’d agree.” She sounded smug, which he ignored. “Everyone’s totally on board. God, talk shows are the best for a quick turnaround. You and Martin will do a two part special, a ten minute mini-episode within a Sherlock special on each show. London based for Graham, New York based for James. Their writers are working on it already, script will be with you in the next 48 hours.”

Benedict blinked. “What about Martin?”

“Linda said he’s agreed to it. I haven’t spoken to him of course, but I’ve emailed you all the details about this, and Martin’s numbers are on the mail list, so why don’t you call him?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Benedict replied. They farewelled and he resumed his ceiling contemplation. _He’s agreed to it._ That told him nothing about how Martin actually felt about this whole venture. It was much bigger than he’d thought, too – two specials, both sides of the Atlantic. It was incredible they’d all made the schedules work. Talk shows and their quick turnarounds, he figured. Just good timing that he had a week or so with nothing set in concrete. Neither did Martin, either, apparently. He opened his email, squinting at the email Katie’d sent.

“Bloody…” he swore. According to this, he was flying to London in three days’ time to film the first half of the skit and the Norton interview, before it was back to New York to do the second half of the skit before the Corden interview. The whole thing would be wrapped up in just over a week. The scripts were being written right now, he assumed, and Katie had assured everyone (really, him and Martin) that they’d be ready the day after tomorrow. _Nothing else to do on an 8 hour flight, I guess_ , Benedict thought to himself. _What in the hell have I agreed to here?_ Hesitating for a moment, he clicked on the link to Martin’s contact details, found his phone number and dialled.

“Hey, this is Martin. Leave me a message.”

“Hi Martin, this is Benedict Cumberbatch. Linda sent me through your number with the details about this Sherlock special we’re doing. Just wondering if you have any more info, I’m flying pretty blind here. Anyway, I look forward to meeting you later this week. Cheers.”

Benedict hung up. He mentally reviewed his message, agonising, _Did I sound like an idiot?_ , before shrugging. There was nothing he could do about it now. “Ugh,” he groaned as he dropped his head back to the pillow. Ten days and it would be over. Ten short days.


	4. Chapter 4

Benedict stared at the envelope. He’d signed for it automatically before registering that today was the day he was expecting the new script. It felt oddly light, though his rational brain pointed out that it was only a ten minute bit, of course it would be short. After a few moments, the cold outside air made him shiver, and he retreated, closing the door behind him. Pacing into the sitting room, Benedict sank onto his sofa, eyes still locked on the envelope as though it might burst into flames.

It wasn’t until Katie had informed him the script was done and on its way that Benedict realised there had been a low buzz of nervous anticipation threading through him. Had been ever since the confirmation that this project was going ahead. It was going to be intense, such a short turnaround, and he and Martin would be more or less joined at the hip for five days. That could be great, if they got along, or awkward as hell if they didn’t. Despite his best intentions, Benedict hadn’t been able to resist Googling Martin, to try and see what he was really like. He skimmed over the filmography and personal history, but watched and re-watched several interviews Martin’d given, especially recently. Watching Martin speaking to the interviewers, he’d appeared mostly relaxed, concentrating on their questions and giving considered answers. It was strangely entrancing, watching him lean forward earnestly or run one hand through the hair his producers had clearly decided John should have this season. Although he tended to swear quite a lot, Benedict knew Martin was the kind of person interviewers loved to have. Blunt and honest without being nasty, he never lost his temper and was often up for the silly games late night hosts seemed to favour.

 

To Benedict’s surprise, when he indulged a whim and Googled his own name with Martin’s, there were a lot of hits. _A lot._ He frowned, scanning the titles. Many were articles about one of the Sherlock programs that mentioned in passing the cast of the other; one was an interview titled, ‘WHAT MARTIN FREEMAN THINKS OF BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH’ – highly misleading, just some generic vague, ‘We’ve never met but he seems lovely’ comments. A few linked to Martin’s spot on Graham Norton, and the rest…Benedict’s face went red as he realised the Johnlock phenomenon had extended further than himself and Joan, or Matt and Martin. He’d known about them of course – some interviewers couldn’t help trying to elicit a reaction – but he’d hardly gone and read any. Looking at them now, there were stories (quite a few, if the site called AO3 was anything to go by) specifically pairing his Sherlock with Martin’s John. When his shock abated, Benedict had tentatively clicked on one of the ‘tags’, bringing up a list of stories and their summaries. His face grew warmer and eyebrows climbed as he read about Martin’s John chasing his Sherlock to New York; chance meetings between Martin’s John and his Sherlock in London, before his Sherlock had ever left; even Martin’s John having it out with Joan Watson over who was better for his Sherlock.

Amusement flooded through Benedict, and he chuckled. Did these people know that Sherlock and John were fictional? Or that he and Martin had never even met, let alone worked together? He knew these questions were rhetorical, but asking them allowed him to largely ignore the discomfort that lay beneath his amusement. Why had he been so eager to watch a man he’d never met be interviewed again and again? He knew he was more nervous about this whole plan than he should be – and he knew why. Shaking his head now, though, Benedict pushed the thought away, focussing on the script in his hands. This was what he needed to focus on.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he’d read it cover to cover. It was more or less what he’d expected for a late night show; largely taking the piss out of his show and Martin’s, highlighting the differences with a few cheap jokes thrown in. Both Norton and Corden were quite liberal, politically speaking, so there were a few political jokes in there as well as some Johnlock hinted at. Benedict was relieved to see it was only hinted at. He and John would start on a case, and most of the major players would appear – they’d gotten a lot of the actors from the other show, he saw with surprise – Una had been roped into a scene as Mrs. Hudson, and Mark as Mycroft; one of the running jokes appeared to be Greg Lestrade – from Martin’s show – having a date with a different recurring character almost every scene. He wondered how that would continue into the second part, given that the actor would still be in London. Lucy would surely be up for a cameo as a confused Joan if they wanted to do it that way...Anyway, not his concern. He noted that the script ended on a dramatic cliffhanger – he and John handcuffed together in an abandoned warehouse, the bad guy still unseen. To be continued, no doubt. At the end of the script was a handwritten scribble from Kate.

_Here you go, B. Apparently Corden’s writers have started on part 2, which continues some of the jokes and wraps up the case and the Johnlock stuff. Still working on the itinerary but you’ll depart JFK at 2300 on Tuesday, arriving 1100 at Heathrow on Wednesday. I’ll email you the details, but a car will pick you up at 1930 Tuesday. BE READY. Katie._

Okay, so he had about a day to learn most of this. He’d done enough improv to know that it didn’t have to be word perfect for such a little piece as this, but he wanted to make a good impression. _On Martin_ , his traitorous brain supplied, and he snorted derisively. Flicking back to page one, Benedict started reading his lines aloud as he walked into the kitchen to make a coffee. As he put his script down and reached for the coffee pods, his phone pinged.

_Hey Benedict, Martin Freeman here. I’m on set, can’t talk but wanted to say hi. Also my publicist wants me to assure you I’m not pissed about your comments. Apparently I came off a bit angry._

Benedict blinked. Well that solved that problem, though he did notice Martin didn’t say he _wasn’t_ pissed.

_Hi, thanks for the reassurance. Hell of a scowl you’ve got there._

The reply was instantaneous.

_Practice, grasshopper._

Relief flooded through Benedict. He couldn’t be that pissed if he was joking around.

_I’ll work on it, then. Hate to disappoint Norton._

_Aren’t you flying overnight? That’s enough to do it, I’d say._

_Won’t be too bad. The jetlag’ll get me, though. Thank God we’re on hiatus._

_Aren’t you doing that Avengers thing, anyway?_

Benedict’s stomach jumped a little. How did Martin know about that? Not that it was particularly secret, but still.

_Yes, but I don’t have to be there for the start of primary. I’ll get a bit of a break, at least._

There was no reply, and Benedict figured Martin must have been called to set. He picked up his script again and started focussing, repeating the lines aloud until they began to stick in his head. Though it was a short script, it was typically wordy, classic Sherlock in that respect, though there was a distinctly pantomime air that made Benedict exaggerate his Sherlock into the slightly ridiculous. As he returned once again to the beginning, he started finding the rhythm of the words, adding gestures and flicks of his imaginary coat to emphasise his point. It was coming together nicely when his phone pinged once again.

_Sorry, called to set. Talk Weds. Cheers, MF._

Okay then, Benedict thought to himself. Better get this done so I can relax on the plane.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, apologies - we're only up to chapter 5! The intended chapter is a little longer than the original chapter 5 so be sure you read it all the way to the bottom! Cheers.

Benedict stretched as he finally arrived at the studio on Wednesday. His flight had landed on time, and he’d been hustled quickly through customs, making it to his car without too much fuss or any photographers to speak of. It was odd to be back in England after such a time away. He had changed his watch over, and hoped that the few hours ahead would be negated by his poor sleep on the plane. With any luck, he’d still sleep at a normal time tonight.

Katie made a phone call as they stood in the weak English sunlight, Benedict enjoying the relatively open space of the car park. He didn’t hate flying as a rule, but the inside of a plane was a fairly small space to spend so many hours. Idly, he wondered what Martin was doing. Probably at the studio, waiting for him, Benedict thought with a rush of unexpected nervous energy.

“Katie, Benedict, hi.” A blonde woman made her way over, smiling and shaking their hands. “I’m Sarah, producer at the Graham Norton Show. Thanks so much for agreeing to this, it should be a lot of fun.”

Benedict murmured some generic assurances, still trying to figure out what the nerves were from, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Katie. Translation: Do better. They turned to follow Sarah onto a half completed set, clearly a variation on Baker Street. A generic street set stood next to it, intended to be a murder scene, he assumed.

“This is your Baker Street,” she confirmed Benedict’s initial impression, “and this is for the crime scene scene.” She giggled at herself when she realised the amusing repetition. Mindful of Katie’s sharp elbows, Benedict chuckled at the fairly terrible joke.

“Martin is around somewhere, and we’ve planned a full rehearsal tomorrow morning, hair and makeup, wardrobe, the lot. All the extra cast will be here for that too, then a couple of hours off before filming.”

Benedict frowned. The knowledge that Martin was around somewhere was overshadowed by this new information. “Are we filming live?”

Sarah blinked at her. “Well, yes.” She looked uncertainly at Katie. “I thought that was made clear. The studio audience for the show will be in, and this will be part of the live experience.”

“So it’s more of a pantomime then, really.” Benedict asked. He wasn’t sure why he was so irritated. He’d assumed that the Sherlock scenes would be filmed earlier, and he and Martin would be guests on the show a few hours later. It didn’t even matter, really, except that it wasn’t what he’d thought was happening.

“It’s fine.” Benedict cut her off as she tried to placate him. He took a deep breath. No need to be an asshole, he thought to himself. “Sarah. It’s not a problem. Just not what I expected. Actually, would you mind, I just need some space to myself for maybe an hour? The flight wasn’t great and I’d like to focus before Martin and I start working on this.” He spoke quietly and sincerely – which wasn’t hard as he really did need some space – and shot her a winning smile. As predicted, she melted a little, promising to find him an empty dressing room. Benedict relaxed a little. He needed to settle himself down before meeting someone he’d be more or less living with for the next week.

As soon as she was gone, Katie swatted him with the back of her hand. “Lucky you could charm your way out of that one.”  
“Fucking pantomime, though.” Benedict groused half-heartedly.

“You know it doesn’t matter. Who cares, it’s not like there would be multiple takes even if they did film it in advance.” Katie pointed out, sounding completely reasonable and still annoying the hell out of him. Before Benedict could dig himself any deeper holes, Sarah returned.

“Look, I’d love something to eat. Can you please find me something? Please?” Benedict asked Katie. Her expression didn’t change as she flipped him off, and he winked at her, mouthing ‘thank you’. He knew that meant she’d do it, but she wasn’t happy about it.

He thanked Sarah profusely when she lead him to a tiny dressing room at the end of the corridor. He sank down onto the sofa (it would never be a couch, no matter how long he lived in the States) and closed his eyes. Quiet, and the absence of people. Bliss. He shoved aside the uncomfortable nerves he was still feeling, not yet willing to address the source. First, relaxation techniques. Just as he was feeling the tension bleed out of his muscles, there was a knock at the door.

“Go away unless you have my food!” Benedict called. He didn’t open his eyes when the door opened, but he could tell it wasn’t Katie.

“Was I not cl…” he started, then stopped. Martin Freeman stood in front of him, holding a takeaway food box in one hand and a pair of coffees in the other.

“Hi.” Martin said easily. “Ran into your publicist or whatever, she said this is for you. I thought I’d bring them down and say hi at the same time.”

Benedict nodded, the flutter again making its way through his abdomen. Martin dropped the food on the coffee table and carefully placed the drinks down too. “Katie said to tell you these are both for you and you are to drink them unless…” he trailed off waving one hand at Benedict.

Benedict rolled his eyes. “Unless I want her foot up my arse?” he asked, giving ‘arse’ the American pronunciation, as Katie did.

Martin nodded. “She’s got balls, that one,” he said raising his eyebrows.

“Titanium ones, bigger than anyone’s.” Benedict confirmed. He reached for the food, before realised Martin was still standing. “Sit down, might as well get comfortable.”

“I thought you wanted some down time.” Martin said, taking a seat anyway.

Benedict shrugged. True as it was, he didn’t want to offend Martin on their first face to face meeting. No avoiding it now, or preparing for it in any of the vague ways he thought he should. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said through a mouthful of lunch.

“What is that?” Martin asked, looking at Benedict’s lunch.

“I have no idea. I made the mistake of letting Katie chose.” He poked at something red. “I think it’s quinoa or something, and this is a seedy thing…I dunno, it’s pretty good. And there’ll be chips in there.” He pointed his plastic fork at the bag. “That’s the deal. If she gets me healthy stuff, there have to be chips to go with it.”

“When you say chips, you mean...” Martin asked, looking in the bag.

“Hot chips, of course.” Benedict told him with mock severity. “None of this American ‘chips are chips and crisps are chips too’ rubbish.”

Martin grinned. He looked relaxed, Benedict thought, and for some reason bigger than he’d expected. Quite a few people had told him how short Martin was, which had somehow equated to small in Benedict’s head; it wasn’t true, though. He was so at ease with himself; the confidence radiating from his body made him appear to take up more space than he physically did.

“So, what did you think of the script, then?” Benedict asked between bites.

“Pretty good for such a short turnaround.” Martin replied. “About what I expected. Funny, pokes a bit of fun at both the shows, lots of cameos, bit of a mention of that weird fan fiction stuff.”

“Should be more panto than straight, do you think?” Benedict asked, glad they’d been able to shift right into shop talk.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Martin agreed. “Definitely not as serious overall.”

They talked about how they’d thought they should their characters and the scenes, and Benedict was pleased that they’d slipped into an easy camaraderie so quickly. They’d both earmarked the same places in the script as needing a bit of work, and as soon as Benedict had finished eating they pulled out his script, sitting side by side on the couch to read over the pages together. Martin was surprised at how much of Sherlock’s dialogue Benedict had learned already, and a rush of warmth flowed through him at Martin’s approving glance.

“Yeah, well, it’s like any writer for Sherlock, so bloody wordy you’ve gotta start early just to fit it all in.” Benedict grumbled good naturedly. Martin bumped his shoulder in acknowledgement-slash-commiseration, and Benedict grinned at him, warmth flowing down his arm at the contact. They returned to their discussion of the script, beginning at the first scene and standing up to block out some of the action. When Benedict tripped over his table for the third time, he said, “This is ridiculous. There’s a Baker Street set out there, let’s go and use it.”

Martin agreed, but before he opened the door, he turned back to Benedict and said directly, “Look, just wanted to say again, no hard feelings about the two shows, yeah? I mean, I know you were probably joking in that interview and I wasn’t serious either.” He held out his hand and Benedict shook it.

“Yeah, thanks. I wasn’t serious, I mean I don’t even know why I said all that shite. I bloody hate interviews sometimes.” Benedict admitted. They let go of the handshake, and Benedict had the impression that he may have just me someone that could turn out to be a very good friend in the future.

+++

“So, where are they putting you up?” Martin asked Benedict.

“Some hotel. Katie knows where it is.” Benedict replied. He was tired now - they’d spent a good few hours planning out the scenes in Baker Street and at the crime scene next door. There were quite a few suggestive lines, Benedict thought, clearly catering to the Johnlock market; he and Martin had avoided doing more than a perfunctory blocking of those moments – it wasn’t like there was a kiss or anything, at least. Martin knew all his dialogue, too, making the process far easier than it might have been; he needn’t have been so impressed at Benedict’s knowledge.

“You’ve got about five times as much to say as I do, though.” Martin had replied when Benedict pointed this out to him. He had a way of making someone else’s achievements seem far greater than his own, Benedict mused, watching him flatter the costumer who was fitting his shirts. Martin was wearing some of the costumes from the BBC set, actually; they’d been happy to send them over. Benedict had offered to do the same, but they’d declined, asking only for his measurements, which Katie had sent over. So Benedict had to endure the usual fittings, which Martin stayed to talk to him through.

“Nothing else pressing to do.” Martin had shrugged.

“No girlfriend to go home to?”

Martin had grinned and said, “Not really my area.”

Benedict frowned a little. Was he supposed to know what that meant? It sounded like Martin expected a particular response. “Oh, okay. Boyfriend, then?”

Martin’s grin broadened, and he was laughing as he said, “No.” Despite the laughter, he was still looking at Benedict expectantly.

“What?” Benedict said finally, exasperated.

“Oh come, on,” Martin said, “Don’t tell me you didn’t recognise that.”

Benedict shook his head.

“I’m wounded, hurt, damaged beyond repair.” Martin wailed before breaking into laughter again.

“Should I know what that’s from?” Benedict asked the woman pinning his shirt even tighter at the back.

“Quote from the first BBC Sherlock episode,” she replied, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Ah. Thank you,” he replied. Turning back to Martin, he said, “Tell me, how do clients usually introduce you?”

Martin, Benedict was pleased to see, looked confused as hell. “Er, what?” he said.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognise a quote from my show, Martin!” Benedict said sarcastically.

Martin relaxed, the confusion slipping from his face as he realised what Benedict had done. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

There was an amused silence for a few moments, until the girl pinning Benedict’s shirt had finished. “Okay, you’re good to go," she said. “Just leave the shirt over here and it’ll be ready for tomorrow.” She nodded a goodbye to both men before leaving with the rest of Benedict’s shirts, all of which also needed adjusting to the same ridiculously tight standard.

“So seriously, no girlfriend? Didn’t I read that you and the woman playing Mary were together?” Benedict asked, carefully unbuttoning his shirt while avoiding the pins.

“Were. Past tense.” Martin corrected. “She wanted kids, I didn’t. It was a while ago now.”

Benedict nodded. “Sorry, mate.”

“Not your fault.”

“Must have made filming hard.”

Martin shrugged. “Not really. Just a job. Probably a bit awkward, but you’ll always run into people you know, y’know?”

Benedict nodded sympathetically. “It’s not always easy.”

They looked at each other for a long sober moment. “So, dinner?” Benedict asked. “Assuming you know somewhere better than the room service of my hotel.”

“Depends, where is your hotel?” Martin retorted. “Cause I could go for room service, a few beers, and some football, to be honest. Real football, not that American crap you’re probably thinking about.”

They walked back to the dressing room Benedict had been using as his base, and he thumbed through his phone. “The…bloody hell, The Savoy.”

“Excellent, we’re eating at your place then.” Martin decided. Benedict grinned, picking up his things – Katie would have had his bags delivered there already. He liked that Martin was comfortable enough to make decisions like this on their behalf. When they’d first met he’d wondered if Martin was a bit indecisive, but it turned out he was quite the opposite. It made a refreshing change from the deference he sometimes found when working with newer actors, or meeting people for the first time.

“Ready?” Martin asked, having shrugged into his jacket.

“Yep.” Benedict replied, and they made their way out to find a cab.

+++

“I’m ordering the most expensive thing now, you know. “ Martin said grumpily, sending Benedict off into gales of laughter again. They’d emerged from the cab at the hotel only for Benedict to realise he didn’t have a penny of English currency with him, essentially leaving Martin to pay their fare. The grouchy look on his face had been exactly the same as in the interview Benedict had seen, only now he understood; this was Martin’s faux-upset face. The little bit of inside knowledge made him feel giddly, and it wasn’t until he had checked in and collected his key he’d calmed down properly. _Get a grip,_ he told himself.

“Excellent, I can get pissed and crash here if I need to.” Martin declared, seeing the two queen sized beds. The room was quite big, and gorgeous, Benedict noticed. He wondered why Katie had bothered for only two nights – he rarely stayed in places so nice. He’d ask her tomorrow. Right now he had a fairly feisty actor…

“Why are you jumping on the bed?” he asked Martin, who grinned at him, whooping as he fell flat on his back in the middle of the bed.

“Are you high, by any chance?” Benedict asked suspiciously.

Martin just grinned at him again, before grabbing a room service menu. “Anything you don’t eat?” he asked Benedict, but before Benedict could open his mouth, Martin was talking to the voice at the other end. Charming the pants off her, he thought, based on his tone of voice. When Martin looked up at him again, Benedict shook his head, mouthing, ‘anything is fine.’

Martin finally hung up, announcing, “The booze is coming up now, and I’ve ordered a pile of food in an hour.”

“Right.” Benedict was beginning to realise that life with Martin Freeman was going to be a bit of a rollercoaster. “Er, how much booze are we talking here?”

“Beer. Lots and lots of beer.” Martin replied happily. Benedict wondered if he actually was high. Shaking his head, he opened his bag, pulling out clean clothes and his toiletries.

“I’m going to have a shower first. I’d say make yourself at home, but you already have.” Benedict told Martin. The latter gave him a mock salute as he flicked through the television channels, trying to decide which match to watch. Benedict shook his head as he closed the bathroom door. Clearly, Martin was quite comfortable already. Their conversation had flowed, but they hadn’t talked about anything of substance, really. Kind of perfect, for a pair of actors stuck together for a finite period; they would get along, then go their separate ways and probably not see each other again for years, and even then on some random talk show or awards night. The idea sat oddly with Benedict. Like all the other moments he’d had in the last few days, Benedict went to push it away as he dropped his shirt on the floor. Hand on his flies, he paused. This was likely to be the only private time he’d have until Martin went home that evening, assuming he was joking about the two beds. Probably best if he actually figured out what the hell was happening in his head while he had the chance. Frowning as he stripped off the rest of the clothes, Benedict reached in to turn on the water, allowing his mind to wander. The hot water sluiced over his shoulders as he considered his reactions to various moments since he’d started this project. Before that even, he realised, the first time was on The Late Late Show. He’d avoided James Corden’s comment about Martin – and that had started this whole situation, really. He’d been… _something_ …when Sarah was showing him around the set before he’d met Martin. He’d barely heard a word, wondering where Martin was and what he would be like in person. Would things be awkward after their respective interview comments? Would their visions for this Sherlock mash-up be compatible? As it had turned out, it was fine, it was all fine. And yet, those moments of doubt and the strange fluttering in his abdomen had persisted – when Martin had been impressed that he knew his lines; when he’d been able to read Martin’s facial expression; when Martin had confidently announced he might stay the night. What the hell? He wondered.

Benedict’s musing were interrupted by a brief knock at the door, which opened before he had a chance to answer.

“Beers here! Just leaving you one on the sink, mate.” Martin’s voice sounded, his outline visible through the steam as he stepped into the bathroom and then out again. He was in and out before Benedict’s mind could react. It wasn’t something a new acquaintance would usually do, perhaps, though Benedict certainly had male friends who wouldn’t think anything of bringing him a beer while he was in the shower. His mind still processing the whole event, Benedict finally felt something he could identify – and it was not what he’d been expecting. As he thought about Martin entering the bathroom, possibly catching a glimpse of Benedict’s naked skin, a frisson of heat skittered up his spine. No way, he thought to himself. Reaching again for the idea, Benedict was braced this time for the desire that shot through his body, this time pooling in his groin. He didn’t need to look down to know that he was half hard already, just by thinking about that not-so-near encounter.

“Fuck.” He swore to himself, barely noticing the warmth of the water anymore. That would actually explain a lot of the sensations he’d found difficult to pin down in the last few days; if it all came down to attraction, no more explanation would be needed. Except, of course, that he was (so far in his life, at least) a straight man, thinking about another (he assumed) straight man. Cue midlife sexuality crisis. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Slumping down on the tiled seat, Benedict redirected the water to hit him as he worked through this moment of clarity/crisis. It definitely warranted some thought before he re-joined Martin.


	6. Chapter 6

“I thought you were gonna wash away,” Martin said as Benedict finally emerged from the bathroom. He’d obviously mellowed while Benedict showered, looking more relaxed and less likely to try and swing from a chandelier, to Benedict’s relief.

“I always need a long shower after a flight,” Benedict used the handy excuse, which Martin didn’t question. Tossing the empty beer bottle, Benedict grabbed another, offering one to Martin.

“Cheers,” Martin said, raising his bottle in Benedict’s general direction, “to the English Show and The American Show.”

“Ah, I believe you called us ‘The Traitors’,” Benedict pointed out, dropping into the armchair near Martin. He was glad of the easy banter they’d already dropped into – it helped cover the awkwardness after his mini meltdown in the bathroom, which had been followed by a very cold blast from the taps to dampen his libido. He’d told himself sternly to just get on with the semi-professional friendship in which they seemed to have found an equilibrium; no need to rock the boat.

“Only in the friendly sense,” Martin replied, glancing at Benedict and then back at the football. “God, I haven’t watched proper football in ages,” Martin muttered to himself, throwing one arm up at the refereeing decision on the screen.

“Me either. It’s never on over there except at weird times,” Benedict said. He’d never really been into the football anyway – he didn’t even know who was playing. Just people running around, chasing a ball.

“I’ve just been too busy, shooting Sherlock and then Fargo and that Marvel stuff.” Martin said. “A bloody lot of time of planes, back and forward.”

“Yeah,” Benedict agreed. “Elementary takes up heaps of time, and squeezing in movies too – why do we do that?” he asked, half rhetorically.

“The money and the fame.” Martin replied dryly, and they both chuckled. Benedict went to drink, only to find his bottle empty again. He hoped the food would be here soon, or he’d be drunk before long.

“The money’s good,” Benedict agreed. “Hours are terrible, though.”

“Have you done any of the Comicons?” Martin asked.

“Some, mainly East Coast, though.” Benedict replied, and they settled into an easy discussion of the good, the bad and the downright weird about conventions. They’d both been on panels for their Sherlock-related work, and The Hobbit, but never together. The North Atlantic was big enough to be inconvenient. The Herring Pond, Benedict’s Dad had called it, though he’d had never really understood the reference. It was big enough even today to keep actors from crossing regularly, and the twist of fate that had kept he and Martin apart until now was odd indeed. Now that they were here, talking comfortably about the lengths people would go to in order to make an impression, he was relieved. Being all of a sudden aware of his attraction he’d been worried – for an actor, he was rubbish at covering his real emotions. He just had to do the same thing as he’d been doing – be nice, nothing too personal, just get through the week and get back to real life. On the other side of the pond.

“Seriously, she told me her friend’s ovaries would explode just seeing a photo of me. I mean, I’m pretty sure it’s hyperbole but, I mean, fuck.” Martin insisted as Benedict laughed, and knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

“Food!” Martin jumped up, grabbing Benedict’s empty bottle on his way to the door. The waiter came in, followed by another, and they set the covered trays on the coffee table, as Martin directed. He thanked them and passed another beer across as Benedict asked what he’d ordered.

“Bit of everything, really,” Martin replied, removing cloches.

“Bloody hell,” Benedict laughed, looking at the feast of American food. There were burgers, hot chips, hot dogs, barbecue ribs, pizza, and on a bed of ice, four pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream.

“Hate for you to get homesick for Noo York,” Martin said, in a deliberately terrible New York accent. “Can’t have you eating that weird crap your assistant found for you at lunchtime.”

“This is much better,” Benedict agreed, passing a plate to Martin as the delicious smell of oil and cheese and meat wafted around them. For a while they ate in silence, enjoying the hot food and cold beer. Benedict had eaten some of the best classic New York food, and this didn’t even come close, but sitting here with Martin, back in London, it was somehow perfect. He ate some of everything before polishing off his beer and sitting back, a gasp of satisfaction punctuating the end of the meal.

“Great choice.” He said to Martin, who was finishing up a piece of pizza.

“Thanks to you for the hotel.”

“Thanks to Katie, actually.” Benedict corrected him.

“Yeah.” Martin agreed. They sat in their post-food bliss for a bit, until Benedict felt the effect of the beers he had consumed. After he’d relieved himself, he grabbed a spoon and a pint of ice-cream and sat down again.

“Can’t resist this, how did you know?” he asked Martin. The Tonight Dough was his favourite.

“I read all your fan sites, Mr. Cunderpatch.” Martin said, pitching his voice high and simpering like a teenage girl. Benedict rolled his eyes and threw a pint of ice-cream at Martin’s head. Laughing, he caught it and beckoned for a spoon, which Benedict grudgingly supplied.

“I haven’t laughed this much in a long time.” Benedict found himself musing aloud. Seeing the look Martin was shooting him, he added, “On set doesn’t count. Those behind the scenes, ‘look how much fun we’re having’ are bullshit, you know that.” Martin raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. The silence was a little heavier now, the television muted as the tiny people ran back and forth across the football pitch.

“I wasn’t going to do this whole thing.” Martin admitted. Benedict sat quietly, wondering if there was more to the thought. “My agent basically told me I had to. She said I was too menacing on Norton and people might think I was being serious, even if I talked to you off the record.”

“I got railroaded, too.” Benedict offered in consolation. “Katie basically said that everyone else was in, I was the last one so I had to say yes.” He grinned self-consciously. “I was hoping the timing wouldn’t work out.”

“Yeah, me too.” Martin agreed. A moment later he asked abruptly, “Do you think menacing is the right word?”

Benedict considered for a moment, wondering if Martin could take a joke about it. “Menacing? Probably not. More terrifying. Horrifying? Night-mare inducing, scarring, PTSD triggering…” he trailed off, ducking and laughing as Martin threw a pillow at him. “Hey! Watch the ice cream!” he protested. “I really did wonder how angry you’d be,” Benedict said seriously. “But now I can read that look, so…” he shrugged. Martin was looking at him in a strange way, Benedict noticed. The jet lag, food and beer were making his mind slow, though, and he had no idea what it meant.

Blinking slowly, Martin nodded. “Have you seen the second script?” he asked, breaking the comfortable quiet that had grown between them.

“No,” Benedict shook his head. “Why, have you?”

“Nope,” Martin replied. “What do you think they’ll do?”

For a second, Benedict wondered if Martin was asking…but that couldn’t be right. “Well, they’ve set us up with a cliff hanger, so they’ll have to resolve that. Given that we’ll be in New York, I guess they’ll be trying for cameos from Lucy and Aiden, maybe Jon.”

Martin nodded. “I know Rupert can’t come over, so the Lestrade joke’ll be over.”

“Oh, hang on,” Benedict said, putting down his ice-cream and hauling himself up to find his computer bag. He’d shoved the whole envelope in there when the script had arrived – including the note Katie’d added for him. “Here it is.” He said, dropping down onto the other end of the couch Martin sat on. He read aloud from the note. “ _Apparently Corden’s writers have started on part 2, which continues some of the jokes and wraps up the case and the Johnlock stuff.”_

Martin didn’t reply, and Benedict cursed himself for bringing up the elephant in the room. They’d managed to professionally gloss over the Johnlock innuendo while they’d rehearsed today, playing things straight (so to speak), not dwelling on anything more than the basic blocking, really. Tomorrow morning they’d have a dress rehearsal with the rest of the cast, and Benedict knew it was a chance for both of them to throw themselves more fully into the story; it was likely things would get ramped up quite a bit, especially with the live audience later on. The immediate feedback from a live audience always heightened the emotion of a shoot; it was part of the reason he loved theatre work. This, however, was not the performance in which he wanted extra adrenaline flowing through his veins, tempting him into bolder acting choices.

“Yeah,” Martin finally offered, taking the note from Benedict and studying it harder than it strictly warranted. “Where do you think they’re going to go with that?”

His question hung in the air while Benedict had a thousand thoughts, from his answer to the question to why Martin was asking and what it had done to the atmosphere between them. The air was charged now, and he knew without looking that Martin was also averting his gaze.

“I don’t know,” Benedict murmured. He wanted to add something, but a voice in his head reminded him that they had two performances, two longish interviews to do together in the next week, not to mention the flight and downtime in which they’d probably be together by default. _Don’t wreck it_ , the voice urged, and he heeded it, closing his mouth before anything damning could escape.

“Me either.” Martin said quietly. With a sudden movement that startled Benedict, Martin stood up, replacing the lid on his ice-cream and dropping it back on the ice tray. He rubbed his hands against the front of his trousers, warming them up, or was it a nervous response, Benedict wondered?

“I’m going to go,” Martin said quickly, shooting a brief smile towards Benedict and heading for the door. He nabbed his jacket, threw up a hand and said, “see you tomorrow.”

And he was gone. What the hell? Benedict thought, blinking. He’d barely had a chance to move before Martin was gone. As he thought, two possible reasons occurred to him. ”Fuck,” he said aloud, “either he fancies me too, or he knows I fancy him and he’s all weird about it.” Either way, tomorrow would be awkward as hell, Benedict knew. Looking into his almost empty ice-cream carton, he sighed. In for a penny, he thought, digging in to finish it off. Katie was going to kill him, anyway. And he needed the emotional support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tonight Dough is a real Ben and Jerry's flavour which you can read about [here](http://www.benandjerry.com.au/flavours/the-tonight-dough-ice-cream).
> 
> Meta References  
> Sherlock cast - Rupert Graves – Detective Inspector Lestrade
> 
> Elementary cast - Lucy Liu – Joan Watson; Aiden Quinn – Captain Gregson; Jon Michael Hill – Detective Bell


	7. Chapter 7

Seeing Una on set first thing the next morning was the best start Benedict could have hoped for. She reacted just as he thought she would, squealing and hugging him tight when they arrived at the same time.

“Benedict!” she trilled delightedly. “I am so glad to see you again, it’s been far too long…and to be working together, what a treat!”

Benedict felt himself smile. Una had been a family friend for as long as he could remember, and having her here was like having a friend in his corner. He was very aware, especially today, that the rest of the cast would know each other well; while he had worked with Mark a long time ago, they all knew each other and had a rhythm and rapport that his presence would disrupt, especially as Matt’s absence would also be felt amongst them.

“It’s lovely to see you again,”he said to Una sincerely.

They walked in together, chatting about his family and hers and how he was finding living in New York.

“I’m sure it will be just about the same, and it’s only a short bit,” she told him, feeling the tension rise in his body as they entered the soundstage and looked at Baker Street set. He couldn’t tell her he’d been subconsciously bracing for the presence of Martin. They had not spoken since the previous evening, and Benedict still didn’t have much of an idea what had made Martin scoot off so abruptly. Coupled with his own growing acceptance of his attraction to Martin, today could be either very awkward or fine, depending largely on how Martin responded to Benedict when he arrived. It didn’t sit well that he had no control over how things would play out.

“I’m just going to get settled.” Benedict told Una. Katie wasn’t around yet, but he asked Una to let Martin know he was in his dressing room if they didn’t cross paths before the rehearsal this morning. As he made his way down towards his room, Benedict was distracted enough not to notice that his door was ajar, before he pushed it open. Seeing Martin sitting on his couch, however, made him stop dead, heart suddenly thumping.

“Hi,” Martin said, standing up and nervously rubbing his hands down his thighs.

“Hi,” Benedict replied, still standing in the doorway. Should he shake hands with Martin? Surely they weren’t up to man-hugs, especially with last night’s conclusion. He settled for leaning against the doorjamb.

“Look, I just wanted to apologise about last night. I just left without any reason, I’m sorry.” Martin said. Benedict did notice there was no explanation, and he was secretly relieved; it meant there wouldn’t be any discussion of the weird tension that had developed at the end of their evening. If they could put off that particular conversation for as long as possible, he’d be quite happy about it.

“Yeah, no problem.” Benedict said, dropping his bag and leaving the door open. He didn’t know if Martin planned to stay and talk or go, but it seemed best not to make the already small room seem any more claustrophobic than it already was.

“I actually wanted a word about how we’re going to play this today.” Martin spoke again, and to Benedict’s surprise, stood up and closed the door. Turning away from the dressing table he’d been arranging his things on, Benedict gave Martin his full attention. Something in him became nervous at the tone of voice.

“We should really talk about how, well, obvious we’re going to make the attraction between John and Sherlock.”

And there it was, right out there without euphemisms or anything to allow Benedict to avoid the issue.

“Okay," he said carefully. Best to let Martin go first on this. “Did you have any ideas?”

“Well I spoke to Mark last night,” Martin said. “He’ll be here as Mycroft, of course, but he didn’t have anything to do with the writing. Nobody from BBC did, it’s all Norton’s people.” Benedict nodded – there was no way the conservative BBC would have allowed half the jokes and innuendo present in the script they’d seen. Late night hosts could get away with far more, really. “I asked him what he thought, and he reckons we should go for broke.”

Benedict stared at Martin. “Seriously?”

Martin nodded, chewing on his lip uncertainly. “I think he and the BBC reps clashed a lot about it working on our scripts and he’s really happy to see it so clearly portrayed. He definitely doesn’t want to downplay it.” Watching Martin’s face, Benedict tried to get a read off him about how he felt about Mark’s suggestion. So far Martin had just said what Mark thought, with none of his own opinion to colour it.

“What do you think?” Benedict asked, still watching Martin, who was avoiding his eyes.

“I agree with Mark, though not for exactly the same reasons.” He shrugged, and there was some self-consciousness in there. “It’s meant to be a parody, it’s meant to be a bit funny, and without playing up this aspect of their relationship, you lose a lot of that.” His eyes finally settled on Benedict’s face, and he added, “We’d have to be careful not to make it too camp, I don’t want to offend anybody, but I think we should definitely make it more obvious than we did yesterday.”

Benedict strongly suspected that Martin has rehearsed this little speech a few times, getting the wording just right, in case Benedict was too set against it. As it was, he said simply, “Fine with me.”

Martin looked at him searchingly. “Are you okay with that? I mean, we don’t know what the second script is going to look like yet. Hell, they’ll probably change it after they see what gets the biggest laughs with this one.”

Benedict nodded, feeling a little like he’d stepped out of his own body. “Yes, I trust you, Martin. I agree that we should do it as you suggested, and we’ll deal with the second script when it comes in.” What on earth had he just agreed to? Flirting with Martin on stage, in front of a televised audience, that was what. His internal panic was borne of his worry that his newly discovered secret would be obvious to the world; Martin must have thought it was the opposite, that he was worried people would erroneously think he was less than straight.

He gave Benedict an intense look and said seriously, “I trust you too. I’ll have your back on this,” before letting himself out.

As the door closed, Benedict sat down on the newly vacated sofa and let out an explosive breath. He’d had the perfect opportunity to tell Martin he wanted to play it straighter than it was written; he doubted that Martin would have refused him. And yet he’d basically agreed to display his attraction to Martin to the world. How on earth would he do that? He’d be a man attracted to Martin playing a man _not_ attracted to Martin, playing a man attracted to Martin. It made his head hurt, and he groaned aloud at the pit he’d dug for himself. How would he cover his attraction, while broadcasting Sherlock’s? As he thought about it, the answer suddenly came to him, breathtakingly simple. He wouldn’t act Sherlock being attracted to John; he would simply allow Benedict’s attraction to Martin to show. Already, he’d found himself curtailing looks and touches, even in the short time they’d known each other; all he had to do was relax that, perhaps turn it up a little, and Mark would get his wish, for a Sherlock and John will-they-won’t-they scenario. The only thing that might trip him up was shifting from Sherlock to Benedict; it was such an immersive role that he often had trouble shifting back and forward. Actually, that might work in his favour, should anyone suspect anything. Benedict nodded to himself. He had a plan. It was a slightly terrible plan, but it was better than nothing.

+++

A little later, the cast sat in a meeting room for a quick table read. It was such a tiny script, but with so many cameos and such a small set, the director of the segment wanted to go through the dialogue first, making notes, before heading out to the set to block the scenes. Benedict and Martin were seated together, of course, and he’d met the others, head spinning with names and faces. Rupert had a relatively large role, given the running gag – he was in almost every scene, with mention of a date with a different character each time. Louise sat beside him, and Una next to her; Mark was also present, and a number of other people whose names Benedict could not remember. He and Martin had locked eyes as soon as he’d walked in, and by unspoken accord, they’d met by the coffee urn.

“Alright?” Martin asked a little tentatively.

“Yep.” Benedict replied. The tension was audible in his voice. He made himself look at Martin, smiling reassuringly. “Let’s do this, shall we?” Benedict offered a fist bump, and Martin rolled his eyes as he touched knuckles. “The game is afoot!” Benedict added in Sherlock’s voice. Martin groaned, and they were both grinning as they took their seats.

Fortunately, the read went well; both Martin and Benedict relaxed into their roles, allowing the flirtatious words to shine. Benedict, as he often did, could see in his mind’s eye how they would move around each other as each line was delivered; he hoped the director was open to some collaboration, given the work he and Martin had already put into this. He was focussed on the work, and when the read finished rolled his shoulders to relax the tension of being so hunched over.

“Ten minutes and we’ll start blocking on set,” the director called.

Martin sat back and looked at Benedict. “That was good,” he said. Benedict hummed in agreement. He turned his head as Martin leaned in to speak in a low voice. “Did you see the rest of the cast?” Benedict shook his head, frowning a little. “Let’s just say that they’re all wondering exactly how far we’ll push this attraction thing.” Martin said. Benedict would have expected a smirk, but Martin’s face was serious.

“How do you know that?” Benedict asked. Martin hadn’t spoken to anyone since the read had finished, how could he know? Had there been gossip even before they’d started today?

“The looks they were giving us were as clear as a pane of glass, Benedict.”

Benedict swallowed, a flutter in his stomach. Would the rumours start? He forced himself to say, “We did a good job, then, right?”

The look Martin gave him then was assessing, as though he was taking information and deciding on a response quite carefully. “Yes, we must have done.” There was another one of those moments, Benedict found, to his annoyance, where it seemed like either one of them could have been on the verge of saying something important, but someone broke in.

“Hi Benedict, good to see you.” Mark’s voice over their bent heads make both men start.

Benedict shot up, turning to hug Mark. “Mark, it’s been too long!” he replied with forced enthusiasm.

“I love the interpretation, I’m assuming Martin spoke to you this morning.” Mark said. He held up his hands in mock defence. “Not that I’m telling you how to do it, of course, just my take on the script.”

Martin snorted, standing up to join the conversation. “Oh come on, Mark, you’re hanging to see Sherlock and John done this way.” He turned to Benedict and said with a conspiratorial smirk, “I’m pretty sure Mark writes a lot of that Johnlock fan fiction that this is based on, you know.”

All three of them laughed at this, though there was a level of forcedness there, Benedict thought.

“No, I mean that’s how we’d already looked at it.” Benedict reassured him. “Just hoping Corden’s writers don’t put in a nude scene, I’m pretty out of shape.” They made a few more jokes before Mark moved off to talk to Rupert, and the director’s assistant moved in to ask everyone to make their way out to the set.

To Benedict’s relief, and Martin’s too, he suspected, the director was more than happy to let them dictate the blocking. “If you’ve already done it, great. We’ll work around you, pretty much,” she said. Raising her voice over the general chatter, she called, “Scene One, please!” The actors involved made their way to set, or for their entrances; Benedict once more induced an eye roll by insisting on a fist bump from Martin.

“Don’t turn this into a thing, please.” Martin begged, and Benedict just grinned at him as they took their places.

The scene called for John to make Sherlock tea and insist on him eating something; Sherlock was irritable due to lack of a case, apparently. Just as the director called for action, Benedict met Martin’s eyes and they exchanged a look. _Trust_. They slipped into their roles, and it seemed completely natural for John to run his hand affectionately over Sherlock’s head as he deposited the tea on the arm of Sherlock’s chair. When Sherlock refused the toast and John shrugged and sat on the sofa, Sherlock followed as the dialogue flowed; he ended up with his feet in John’s lap as he sulked. When Lestrade entered, finalising plans what was obviously a date with Sally Donovan, both rolled their eyes at the sight – this was clearly an ongoing joke about how close John and Sherlock actually were.

The director called cut, happy with the scene; Benedict took his feet out of Martin’s lap. “Sorry, I think I’ll lose the shoes before that next time.”

“No problem,” Martin replied easily. The scene had worked well, the easy affection between the two men feeling as natural to Benedict as any of the dialogue. There would be more emphasis on the emotions and reactions for the shoot later this morning, when there’d be the higher energy that was typical of any set. A small part of Benedict was still a little wary of the whole situation, worried that the truth of Sherlock’s emotion would be evident. After their interrupted conversation, and with so many people around, there was no way he was going to bring it up with Martin, though. Just a job, a professional requirement that he make puppy dog eyes at his decidedly attractive male co-worker. On film. And then sit through an interview about it. Great.

+++

Interestingly, Graham Norton himself had visited Benedict’s dressing room right before filming for the show. They’d finished the dress rehearsal, which had been exactly as expected; emotions high, and a blatantly affectionate but outwardly platonic relationship between Sherlock and John which fooled nobody, even the other characters. Benedict had dressed again in Sherlock’s suit trousers and shirt; he’d take off his shoes and add Sherlock’s dressing gown after the introduction but before the performance. The shirt was so ridiculously tight that he wondered if Sherlock’s trademark flop down on the sofa would pop a button or two. That’d bump the ratings, he thought wryly. As he fixed his cuff buttons, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Benedict called. When he saw Graham appear in the mirror, he turned in surprise.

“Hi, Benedict,” the host said, extending his hand. Benedict shook it, wondering if he was the kind of host that did a personal greeting of all his guests before shooting began. They had met before, but he wouldn’t consider them friends, per se. “Look, I just wanted to run some of the questions past you before we start shooting,” Graham said with enough forced nonchalance that it put Benedict immediately on edge.

“Um, sure,” Benedict said. This was unusual. Most hosts didn’t do this, enjoying the slightly uncomfortable reaction of interviewees who didn’t know what was coming. The only exceptions he knew of were those incredibly famous people who stipulated that they had final say over the questions as a condition of their appearance. He was nowhere near that famous just yet.

Graham took a pile of cards from his pocket. He glanced down, clearing his throat. “Um, let me see, there’s one about why you and Martin are here, we’re going to show the bit with you from Corden and then Martin from here last week.” He looked at Benedict with raised eyebrows, continuing once he’d received the all clear. “Then a bit about your show, and how it’s going, then we’ll do the performance of Sherlocked.” Benedict nodded again. All standard stuff so far.

“There might be some rearranging, depending on how the conversation goes, but something like that. Um, and after that,” Graham looked supremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, “well, I’ve seen today’s dress rehearsal and…” he looked at Benedict apologetically. “It’s pretty convincing, actually.”

Benedict fought to keep his face neutral. _Shit_. “Yeah, that’s what they pay us for,” he joked.

Graham didn’t laugh. “The producers want me to ask specifically about your relationship with Martin, maybe insinuate there’s a little more there than professional courtesy.” He was watching Benedict carefully, though he didn’t appear to be looking for evidence of the lie; it was more that he was hoping not to upset the actor.

Benedict blinked and nodded, swallowing hard. “Martin and I…” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, starting again. “We met yesterday. The feud thing was meant to be a joke, we both saw it that way but the publicists have spun it out into this big deal.”

Graham nodded silently, fiddling with the edge of his card. When he spoke, it was abrupt as though the words had been held back but now burst forth. “Look, I’ll ask about how it was working together in general, how was it different to you working with Lucy and Martin with Matt. There’ll be something in there about your next project, whatever you’re working on. One of the other guests might point out the exaggerated affection and stuff but I won’t push it. I’ll steer it away from anything that might be…misconstrued. Or difficult to answer.”

Benedict nodded, knowing his face was flaming now. He was busted, but to his good fortune, it was the tactful and discreet host that had spotted his façade. “Thank you. That’s very considerate.” He paused. “Will you speak to Martin please? Just a heads up.” He paused, then threw caution to the wind, adding, “We haven’t…spoken about any of this but I think he’d appreciate knowing the direction you’re going to take.”

Graham nodded. “Of course.” He glanced at his watch as he moved towards the door. “Fifteen minutes ‘til we go.” Before he opened the door, he dropped a card on the table. “My number, in case of anything.” He was gone before Benedict could react.

 _Fuck._ So now not only were things just a little weird between he and Martin – the awareness between them had not quite dissipated after their dress rehearsal this afternoon, he hoped they came off as awkwardly thrown together strangers – but he’d be interviewed by a host who had heavily implied that he saw through Benedict’s charade. At least he’d had the decency to come and speak to Benedict beforehand; he sat down and mentally reviewed the questions Graham had mentioned, coming up with rough answers to each. The ‘working with Martin’ questions would be tough but as long as he and Martin were on the same page, it would be fine. It was all fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meta Notes.  
> Benedict has known Una Stubbs since he was a small boy; she used to work with his mother, and they lived in the same neighbourhood and so became friends.
> 
> Benedict and Mark Gatiss worked together on Starter for Ten (2006)


	8. Chapter 8

_Interview transcript: The Graham Norton Show, BBC One_

Graham: _[Pretends to trip over something. To camera, theatrically]_ Another body? But Matt Smith’s in America! Better cobble together a detective show, who can we use… _[camera pans over audience, picks out Benedict and Martin sitting nonchalantly on the other side of the audience. Wild applause]_ It’s Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman!

Graham: _[on the stage in front of the couch]_ The co-stars of tonight’s exclusive first instalment of _Sherlocked_ , Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman!

_[applause as they settle on the couch, Benedict in Sherlock’s dark grey suit and tight plum shirt; Martin Freeman in a navy suit, yellow shirt and dark spotted tie]_

Graham: Now before we start, Martin Freeman, I’m wondering if you’ve had an issue with your wardrobe. Because I’m sure that’s the same shirt you wore last time you were here. _[image of him from the last show appears on the screen behind Graham; it is the same shirt and tie. Audience laughs]_

Martin: What can I say, it’s my favourite. _[indicates Benedict]_ You should be looking at him, how tight is that shirt?

_[audience laughs, catcalls]_

Benedict: Hey, it’s not mine, it’s Sherlock’s. Blame the wardrobe department. You’re not even ready, where’s John’s jumper, hey?

Martin: I’m not wearing that thing for a second longer than I need to, mate.

_[laughter]_

Graham: Well anyway, it’s a bit backwards, talking about when you were last here, Martin, because this whole collaborative effort really started when you were on with James Corden, Benedict.

Benedict: Yes, yes, that’s right. James was talking about our show, and I jokingly referred to _Sherlock_ as ‘The English Show’, and things spiralled a little out of control after that.

Graham: I believe you referred to yourself as ‘the best’.

Martin: And I took umbrage to that.

Benedict: Yes, you did.

Graham: Yes, you did! Right there on that couch, actually! _[turns to address audience]_ For those who haven’t seen Benedict on _The Late Late Show with James Corden_ , or Martin on this show, here’s what happened.

_[clips of relevant conversations play. Audience applauds]_

Martin: I did look angry, didn’t I?

Benedict: Yes, you did. Like an angry hedgehog woken from its slumber or something.

_[audience laughs. Martin turns to a camera and makes the same scowl]_

Martin: I’ve been called worse.

Graham: So how did it get from that to this?

Martin _[looks at Benedict, who makes a ‘go ahead’ motion]_ Well basically, my agent called and said ‘You have to do this thing with Benedict or you’ll look like an angry dwarf wanker.’ _[Graham, Benedict, audience laugh]_ Seriously.

Benedict: I was pretty much given the same line.

Graham: Not dwarf, surely. _[laughter]_

Benedict: No, not the dwarf. But angry wanker, for sure. _[laughter]_

Graham: And so the stars aligned…

Benedict: Yes, the stars aligned, our publicists made it work, and here we are. _[looks at Martin]_ making Sherlock with a Sherlock from one show and a Watson from another.

Graham: Yes, how is that? _[Addresses Martin]_ Is it weird, having a different Sherlock?

Martin: It’s different, sure. Matt and Benedict do hit a lot of the same notes as Sherlock, they’re the same kind of actor, both brilliant, but there are always some different choices. _[shrugs]_ It’s good, it’s a good challenge. His Sherlock makes my Watson different, and it’s fun to try and make that work.

Benedict: Yeah, exactly. The characters are essentially the same, I mean neither show changes them much from the original works, but you get a different rhythm with each actor, and it took a bit of work to get it right. Well, I hope we got it right. _[grins at Martin, who grins back]_

Graham: Well, let’s have a look and see what we think, shall we? _[to audience]_ Are we ready for the first instalment of _Sherlocked_? _[audience goes wild with applause and catcalls]_ Okay! We’ll go to a song, tonight by the enchanting Adele, so Martin can find John’s jumper, and when we return, we’ll be _Sherlocked_ , featuring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman!

_[Audience applauds, introduction to song plays over applause.]_

_[Fade in; camera on Baker Street set. Sherlocked performance runs smoothly.]_

_[Benedict and Martin return to their seats, now dressed as Sherlock and John; Benedict is wearing Sherlock’s suit and shirt, and Martin has stripped off John’s jumper and remains in a checked button down shirt and tailored trousers.]_

Graham: Wow! There we go! So a serious study of the original works, I take it? _[Benedict, Martin and audience laugh]_

Benedict: More of a parody, I’d say.

Graham: It was like an ode to the fandom, really. _[catcalls and whoops of approval from audience]_

Martin: I don’t know a lot about what goes on out there - _[Benedict: Me neither]_ – but I’ve been assured there are a lot of in jokes for those who like to talk about the shows.

Graham: _[reads off card]_ These are the things my trusty researcher picked up. Um, Lestrade’s name changes all the time. He’s Greg, Graham, George, Geoff, Gavin, and Gilderoy. _[audience laughs. Martin and Benedict smile and nod.]_ Also, Lestrade has a different date in every scene! He mentions a date, or at least a snog, with Molly, Donovan, Mrs. Hudson’s daughter, one of Mrs. Turner’s ‘married ones’, Irene Adler, Mycroft, and Anderson. _[laughter and sounds of disgust from the audience]_ There’s the misspelling of John’s name as Joan, that’s a nod to _Elementary_ , of course. Um, there’s a lot more, Sherlock keeps hitting people with his coat when he turns around dramatically; John makes tea in every scene, Sherlock speaks French even when people won’t understand him, the list goes on and on. Benedict, I have to ask, too, are you exhausted?

Benedict: I am, yeah. _[Martin passes him John’s handkerchief and he mops theatrically at his forehead. Audience laughs]_

Graham: Because Sherlock was a little bit like a kid in need of some Ritalin. When he was going into his mind palace I thought he might be having a seizure or something.

_[audience laughs]_

Benedict: _[chuckles]_ Yeah, he was pretty intense. He’s always highly strung, but in a parody like this you emphasise a lot of the characteristics of your character, so highly strung becomes quite manic, really. And the mind palace, I was just trying to do that thing Matt does _[places tips of fingers on temples and closes eyes as if concentrating, head moving side-to-side as though reading off a screen]_ but really fast, you know?

Graham: _[addressing Martin]_ So how was it playing against such an over the top version of Sherlock? Was it hard to make John Watson kind of match up against that?

Martin: _[considers]_ Not really. Benedict and I haven’t worked together before but we spent some time yesterday talking about how we wanted to approach it, and it gelled pretty well. Janet, the director, was great too, she pretty much let us go at it the way we’d planned.

Graham: So you had a lot of creative freedom, then?

Benedict: I’d say we did, yeah. I mean, I do when I’m filming in the States, too.

Martin: _[nodding]_ Yeah, Matt and I put a lot into the way Sherlock and John interact, it’s such an important part of the show. If you can’t get that dynamic right, the rest is going to fall apart, isn’t it?

Graham: And we’ve ended on a cliff hanger here, Sherlock and John are handcuffed together in a dark basement. How will they ever survive?

Martin: _[shrugs]_ I don’t think they’ve written the script yet, mate, so I dunno. _[audience laughs]_

Graham: _[addresses camera]_ Well tune into _The Late Late Show with James Corden_ to catch the second instalment of _Sherlocked_. You’ll need SKY TV, or I’m sure James will put it up on Youtube, next Monday. Monday, people. Benedict and Martin will be performing in New York then they’ll talk to James about this whole experience. Next up, we talk to Benedict and Martin about the next projects they’re working on, and we’ll see who we’ve got in the big red chair! Don’t go away!

_[Audience applauds, music rises over images as camera pans over audience.]_

+++

After the show, Benedict was exhausted, as he’d mentioned to Graham. Apart from the physical exertion of playing manic Sherlock, he’d felt on edge for the entire interview, worried that the conversation would tip over to discuss the way Sherlock and John had interacted. To his immense relief Graham had stuck to his word, avoiding the topic, and by the time they’d talked about their upcoming projects the topic had slipped everyone else’s minds. That was a huge relief, given how the performance had gone.

It was smooth, with just a few hiccoughs; they were to be expected with so many quick changes and such a short turn around. It had all been part of the fun, though, and the whole cast had been fairly relaxed. For most of them, it was little more than a cameo; only Benedict, Martin and Rupert had lines of any significance. Butterflies had been fluttering as Benedict waited for Martin to change, but it all disappeared when they arrived on set. Just taking their starting places had felt right. He and Martin had exchanged a look which had both of them grinning. Benedict read trust and confidence in Martin’s eyes, and it filled him with the same. Their on-stage affection was natural, the casual touches and even the more subtle moments of their partnership – John sat just a little closer to Sherlock than necessary; Sherlock unconsciously held the door for John. Benedict was interested to watch it back, as he wondered how much of what he really felt was conveyed on the screen. He’d let his guard down on purpose, and the freedom to touch and look at Martin in that way had been glorious. It had taken a conscious effort to replace his barriers and resume the professional/platonic façade of his relationship with Martin.

“Hi, just thought I’d come and say thanks.” Graham was once again at Benedict’s dressing room door; it seemed he interrupted Benedict staring into space.

“Yeah, hi, come in, sorry,” Benedict babbled, motioning him to enter the room. “Just taking off the make-up.”

Graham nodded, seating himself on the couch. “It was good of you – and Martin of course – to do this at such short notice.” He shook his head. “Sometimes it’s the silliest things that get picked up and you’ve just got to run with it if you can.”

“I know what you mean. I was serious, though, I was more or less railroaded into this.” Benedict said, wiping his face clean.

“Somebody is always pushing for something, right?” Graham replied philosophically, and Benedict had to agree with him.

“How was working with the other show’s people? Was it weird?” Graham asked. Benedict couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or if he was just still in interview mode. “Yeah, pretty strange,” he hedged a little, “but it was nice to meet them all, do something a bit different.” He grinned at Graham in the mirror. “Something that made my PA happy, too. Everybody wins.”

Graham laughed at this. He watched Benedict finish up, packing his things away before turning around.

“Look, I don’t mean to pry, but can I ask – and tell me to bugger off if I’m over the line – but what are you going to do about Martin?” Graham asked hesitantly.

The words ‘fuck off’ were on the tip of Benedict’s tongue, before he paused. This would be his one and only opportunity to talk about this. It would be almost impossible for him to find some time with anyone he knew better in the next week, fitting around the crazy schedule they had planned. Perhaps it would be prudent to take up this conversation with Graham, if only to see where it took him.

“I have no idea.” he answered honestly, dropping into the seat in front of him. He and Graham looked at each other for a moment.

“Well I guess you have two options,” Graham ventured. “Tell him, or don’t.”

Benedict snorted a little at that. “Thanks for sorting that out for me.” Graham didn’t look offended, but Benedict still backtracked a little. “Tell him what, exactly? I kind of think I’m kind of attracted to you? By the way nobody on the planet knows I’m not entirely straight, but it should be fine because it’s not as if I’m famous or you’re famous or we live on opposite sides of the Herring Pond, whatever that means.”

Graham blinked at him, obviously taken aback by the outburst. “So you’ve thought about it, then.” Benedict looked at him witheringly. “Okay, you’ve thought about it constantly since you admitted it to yourself and you have no idea what to do.” Graham amended.

Benedict nodded. “And I have no idea what to do," he repeated.

“Well you did a good job today covering it, considering that performance and then the interview.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Benedict offered. “I’m not sure how well I would have done on the couch talking about it.”

“Aren’t you meant to be an actor or something?” Graham asked, grinning at him.

“Apparently,” Benedict replied wryly, “but I don’t think I’m all that good.”

Graham shook his head and stood to leave. Benedict stood too, shaking his hand as Graham said, “You’ll figure something out. Martin's a smart guy. And kind. And for my two pennies – I’ve regretted not doing something more often that doing it.”

He nodded at Benedict, who returned the gesture as the door closed behind Graham. _Well that was absolutely no help at all_ , Benedict thought crossly to himself.

+++

Martin had a room at the Savoy that night too; it was closer to the airport and easier all around for the logistics of tomorrow. Their flight was scheduled at 8am, which meant a very early wake up call, but probably less fans at the airport. The trade-off was worth it, Benedict opined. Airport fans tended to be more rabid than others, though he didn’t know why. As he arrived back at the hotel, he realised Martin’s taxi was right behind his; they must have walked out almost together and not seen each other. Odd, Benedict thought. Can’t ignore him, though.

“Hi,” Benedict offered as they walked in together.

“Oh, hi.” Martin replied uncomfortably. Benedict immediately felt an awkward atmosphere spring up between them. Martin wasn’t looking at him, and when they both pressed ‘6’ in the lift, he didn’t comment as Benedict would have expected him to.

“Want to have a beer?” Benedict offered. He really just wanted to have a shower and crash for as many hours as he could manage, but they’d sat and drank together the previous night, so he figured it would be the polite thing to do.

“Look thanks, but I’m just going to crash.” Martin replied stiffly. Benedict frowned. There was something off, something different since the end of the show. He was about to ask Martin what was going on when the latter said, “See you in the morning, Benedict.”

Benedict blinked as Martin strode quickly up the hall and let himself in a room a few doors down, letting it close behind him with a bang. _What the hell was that about?_ He thought. _Just as long as it doesn’t interrupt the rest of this bizarre week, fine._ The last thing he needed was another thing to cover up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/371687775470634131/) some purple-shirt images in case you need them.  
>  And Martin's yellow shirt ensemble is inspired by [this interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PZBzd2F3U0) which happens to be him on the Norton show. Hashtag serendipity.


	9. Chapter 9

Benedict stifled a yawn as they sat in the first class lounge, awaiting their flight. The pickup had been early, before dawn, and he’d slept poorly after the weird conversation with Martin the previous evening. Now that they were here, sitting close but not really _with_ each other, it was about as awkward as he could imagine it being. Using his tablet as an excuse, he’d downloaded the video of last night’s show to watch on the plane, as well as the script for the second episode, which had arrived in his inbox overnight. The writers at Corden’s show must have started on it earlier and tweaked it based on the audience reaction, Benedict thought to himself. He could feel his eyes crossing with tiredness as he struggled to read the newspaper, and eventually he gave it away. The plan was to sleep a few hours on the plane before waking to watch the episode of Norton and read the new script. That way he’d hopefully feel more awake when they landed – it would be the middle of the day and he didn’t want to nod off during the late afternoon rehearsal they had planned. Assuming he and Martin were on speaking terms, of course. Benedict had no idea what was happening there, but he was happy to ignore it for a while and log a few hours more shut eye.

+++

When his alarm woke him four hours into the flight, he stretched, noting the tight spots in his neck and shoulders. No matter how they tried, airplane beds would never be great, especially when you were as tall as he. Benedict woke himself up, visiting the loo and getting some water before opening his tablet again. Martin’s privacy screen was still up, and he appeared to be sleeping, so Benedict didn’t disturb him. What would he say, anyway? Nothing urgent, and they were stuck together for another three days anyway. Ignoring the mild panic that seemed to arise whenever he thought about the end of their contracted association, Benedict opened the file containing the Norton show and settled down to watch. He could feel himself brace against watching himself – he hated it – but he simply had to see how he had come across not only in _Sherlocked_ but in the interview afterwards.

In the end, he watched it through twice, once focusing on himself and once on Martin. It was a good thing he had a reputation as a good actor, Benedict thought wryly, because he had ‘infatuation’ written all over his face during _Sherlocked_. His eyes had constantly strayed to Martin, his hips turned towards him; Benedict lost count of how often Sherlock stood or sat closer to John than was necessary. The interview was good, thankfully; there was far fewer signs there, though both he and Martin looked at each other with a comfortable affection that was perhaps still a shade _Sherlocked_. Martin had held up his end during the show; on the second viewing, Benedict was taken aback at how well John matched Sherlock for easy, if sometimes gratuitous, affection. John was more touch-y than Sherlock; he seemed not to pass up any opportunity to run a hand over Sherlock’s shoulders or touch his hand. Benedict wondered if that was Martin’s true self colouring John. Was Martin so physically affectionate with those he dated? A daydream arose before Benedict could quash it, of he and Martin in his apartment in New York, looking out over Central Park. Martin brought the coffee over, trailing his hand down Benedict’s arm before sitting close and snuggling under his raised arm, sighing with contentment at the contact.

“Benedict?” The sound of Martin’s voice made Benedict jump, and he reflexively lowered the tablet, hiding the screen.

“Hi.” Benedict managed, still a little surprised to hear from Martin. They’d barely exchanged ten words since the taxi had picked them up that morning.

“Have you read through the script?” Martin asked. Benedict noticed that he couldn’t hold their gaze, and his cheeks were a little pink.

“Is it that bad?” Benedict asked without thinking.

“What do you…Look, have you read it or not? We’ve another hour before we land, I thought we could do a read through and talk about some of the scenes.” Martin sounded strained, and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for banter.

“No, I’ve been watching the show from last night. Did you see it?” Benedict ventured.

“Yeah, watched it last night.” Martin replied, shifting uncomfortably.

When he didn’t offer any further comment, Benedict continued the conversation. “We can do a read through now if you want.”

“No, read it first. Won’t take long.”

Benedict shrugged and found the file, opening it and beginning to read. It was weird doing in here, around so many people. He usually did the first read of a script on his own, where he was free to react as he pleased. Here, he’d have to contain himself, not least because Martin was sitting right next to him. It picked up where the Norton show left off, John and Sherlock handcuffed in a dank basement. Benedict read on, seeing in his mind how they’re rescued by Gregson and Bell, stumbling in and scaring off the faceless bad guy. John in particular is shaken; he has a nightmare than night and Sherlock soothes him and makes the tea when they return to Baker Street. That becomes the running joke of this episode, various characters offering to make John tea when they hear about the kidnapping. It was a good foil for the last episode, when John made tea constantly, Benedict thought. Lucy had a cameo as a therapist working with the NSY; she’d be glad it wasn’t a larger role, what with her heavy load at the moment. The story moved on, Sherlock solving the mystery and running off, John following with a tracking device he’d gotten from Mycroft and secretly hidden in Sherlock’s coat. Benedict liked the scene where John and Mycroft discuss Sherlock; he believed the term was BAMF as it applied to both John and Mycroft. In the end they agree to join forces, and Mycroft made tea as a peace offering – a clever way of having Mycroft make tea for John. Throughout all of this, Sherlock and John had far less scenes together; Sherlock confronts the bad guy, who has a classically Sherlockian monologue, before Sherlock pulls out a gun and shoots him, sick of the talking. John steps out of the shadows and berates Sherlock, pouting that he wanted to save Sherlock, that was his job, what was the point of him if Sherlock was going to do it all himself?

 

_ Excerpt of Script: Sherlocked part 2 (The Late Late Show) _

_Sherlock: You’re essential, John. What would I do without my blogger?_

_John: But you shot a man, Sherlock._

_Sherlock: Yes, but he wasn’t a very nice man._

_[Smile at each other; John touches Sherlock in some way]_

_John: Come on, let’s go home. I’ll make you some tea._

_CUT: BAKER STREET. JOHN brings in two mugs of tea. Places them on side table next to SHERLOCK, who sits in his chair._

_Sherlock: Thank you, John._

_[JOHN visibly shocked. Looks at SHERLOCK for a long minute before smiling, sitting on the armrest and bowing his head as though to kiss SHERLOCK. Fade out before kiss.]_

_CUT: SHERLOCK’S BEDROOM. JOHN and SHERLOCK are sleeping, naked torsos, arms wrapped around each other.]_

_FADE OUT._

_END._

 

Well, damn. It was more or less what he’d expected, and at least there wasn’t a big lovey declaration or anything. Just an almost-kiss and a cuddle, really. And given it was live, if he and Martin agreed to tone it down, there wouldn’t be a director berating him and insisting on another take…

“Okay,” Benedict said aloud, turning to look at Martin. He waited while Martin marked the page of the book he was reading before picking up his own tablet, open to the script in preparation.

“Pretty much what I expected,” Martin said, and Benedict could see the veneer of professionalism he’d pulled on. Averting his eyes, Martin went on, “A bit more of the case in this, and a few less jokes. We’ll have to turn up the parody a bit, I think.”

Benedict nodded. Martin was right – the flow was different on this script. Not a lot, but there were less overtly funny lines, and with fewer scenes together, he and Martin would have to make Sherlock and John’s affection pop when they were together.

“And the UST,” Benedict added, almost desperate to address the elephant in the room. On impulse he added, “There’s not actually a kiss, that’s something.” He regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. It sounded as though he wasn’t prepared to kiss Martin, which was absolutely not true and massively unprofessional, and actually made him think about kissing Martin, which shattered his concentration. He did register Martin’s body stiffening in reaction and when he finally turned, Martin’s eyes were wide with…something. Shock? Panic? That was odd.

“I think we should just read it through. There’ll be plenty of time to block it this afternoon.” Martin said stiltedly. Benedict could see him concentrating on breathing deeply and wondered what was making him freak out so much.

“Sure, okay.” Benedict agreed, scrolling back to the first page of the script. They read through it together, subbing in for other characters where necessary to keep it going. Their interactions lacked the easy connectedness of the last episode, Benedict could feel it immediately; neither was giving 100% right now, but still, there was an air of awkwardness about them. They reached the end, finally, and neither spoke, nor looked at each other. It was excruciating, all the more so because Benedict had no idea why Martin was acting as though this was so difficult. Two days ago they’d been joking about doing this, about the likelihood of a kiss or an even more intimate conversation in the guise of Sherlock and John, and now here they were, barely able to have a convincing conversation about tea. Benedict didn’t know Martin well enough to push the issue, but when it came down to it, they had to do this in two days live on television. Risking a glance at Martin, Benedict snapped his eyes back to his own tablet. He’d give it until their first run through, and if they hadn’t pulled it together for that, he’d have no choice but to ask Martin what the hell was going on. It was one thing for their personal relationship to break down, what there had been of it, but if they couldn’t work together, it would affect more than just the two of them. A lot of people had worked hard to make this happen, and Martin would have to be able to put it aside and be professional. Benedict just hoped that if he did have to bring it up, it wouldn’t mark the end of their friendship entirely.


	10. Chapter 10

By ten minutes to four that afternoon, Benedict had a good number of his lines down. He and Martin had resumed their awkward silence as the plane had landed and they’d been escorted to the hotel – again, they’d been put up close to the studios, despite Benedict having an apartment in the city. They’d ridden up in the lift together, the hyperawareness making everything pulsate so overwhelmingly that Benedict almost forgot to step out. They had adjourning rooms, which seemed almost cruel considering the current state of things, though nobody but he and Martin knew about that. To avoid thinking about Martin next door and the possibility of him having a shower after the long flight, Benedict immediately took out his tablet and began working on learning his lines. The focus did him good – it wasn’t until Katie rang two hours later than he even realised so much time had passed.

“Flight was fine.” He answered her initial question. “No problems, and I’m working on my lines right now, before you ask.”

“Good,” she retorted good naturedly. “Now I’ve booked the Rockefeller Room at four today for you and Martin. Much easier than trailing over to the studios for an hour, and you can spend as much time as you want. They haven’t finished the sets anyway.”

Benedict swallowed. He knew there would be a run through tonight, mainly so he and Martin could block their scenes out, but he’d imagined they would be at the studio, rather than in a private room. In private. Just the two of them. “Sure, okay,” he managed. Glancing automatically at his watch, he saw he had another hour or so.

“I’ll email you the schedule for the rest, the live show will still be Sunday afternoon, but James wants to do a carpool karaoke with you both so think about any songs you want to do.” Benedict could hear the amusement in her voice but chose to ignore it. He could carry a tune, much as he hated to do it, so there was not point worrying.

“Yep,” he said, having forgotten what he was replying to. There was silence on the other end, until he said again, “Katie?”

“Are you okay, Benedict?” she asked. “You seem a bit, I don’t know, distracted.”

“Yeah, fine. Just a bit jetlagged.”

“Sure. Well I saw the other show, it was great. There’s some really good publicity coming off it.”

He knew what was coming and spoke firmly. “No, Katie.”

She signed so dramatically he could practically hear her from here without the benefit of the phone. “But Benedict…”

“I’ve decided, Katie. It’s been a great run but it’s not all I want to do. Six seasons is enough.”

“Okay, okay.” She backed off, as he knew she would.

“West End, then?”

“West End,” he agreed. They said their goodbyes – she’d be at the studio on Sunday – and he hung up. Less than an hour, he saw, until he and Martin would try and recreate what they’d done on the Graham Norton Show. Ignoring the butterflies, Benedict decided he needed a shower to get rid of the last of the flight before he could concentrate on this next challenge. Before stripping down, he called down to the concierge and had them print two copies of the script, emphasising the confidentiality of the contents. He liked to be able to make notes on the paper when he was working, it made it easier when he later reviewed the conversations and decisions they’d made.

And now it was ten to four, and he was fussing over his clothes like a schoolgirl. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t even leaving the hotel, and Martin was hardly someone that would care or even notice. Benedict ended up in comfortable black jeans and a white t-shirt. It was warm in here but that was his preference; in case it was cooler in the conference room he added a cardigan. Refusing to mess with his hair more than absolutely necessary, Benedict brushed his teeth, tied his shoes and plugged his phone and tablet in to charge. With nothing left to do, he grabbed the complimentary pencil from the desk, took a deep breath and pocketed his room card. He felt like he was about to take an examination. Thankfully, Martin was not in the lift – still to come or ahead of him, Benedict didn’t know. When he arrived to an empty room, Benedict was grateful for the extra moment’s reprieve. He could see that Katie had done a good job with the space; it was large and bright, with the furniture pushed out of the way so they would have room to move. On a table by the door were the scripts he’d requested, along with some pencils, highlighters, bottles of water and fruit, and a room service menu. Much better than at his place, he joked to himself. He flicked through the script again, jumping a little when the door finally opened and Martin entered.

“Hi,” Martin said. He looked nervous, Benedict noted, though he was looking right at Benedict this time.

“Hi,” Benedict said warily. He still felt like he was largely in the dark about what was going on, but he would let it all go if Martin would work with him. That was all they were being asked to do, after all.

“I got you a copy…” Martin started, then saw the script in Benedict’s hand. “Oh, you’ve got one.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Benedict replied. Martin added his to the pile on the table. He had his tablet, and Benedict assumed he would make notes electronically as he had last time. Hang on…

“You had a copy of the script printed for me?” Benedict asked suddenly. He watched Martin flush then laugh uneasily.

“Yeah, I saw you liked to make notes on the paper last time but you were reading off your tablet on the plane," he explained. Benedict nodded, not sure what this meant. He couldn’t think about it now, though. Not with Martin right here, and apparently ready to work.

“Shall we then?” Martin asked. They worked out the orientation of the Baker Street flat and started with the longest scene. It was just the two of them, and easily the most complicated; Sherlock was pacing, picking up and putting down props as he spoke. John was watching, largely silent but with a few key lines. They started slowly, breaking out of the dialogue to make suggestions and confirm choices. It worked, but it was far from the easy camaraderie they had experienced while doing the same thing in London. Neither objected to the suggestion of the other; there were no professional disagreements or debates or tweaking of ideas. It was smooth and lifeless and completely without conflict.

Benedict hated it.

The acting was okay, though they were still on-script a little, but John and Sherlock’s chemistry, which had been so natural and clear in London, was gone. The conflict in his head was distracting – he wanted Martin to be close to him, to touch him, but at the same time, he could feel the tension radiating off the man. Benedict knew it wasn’t great, and he could see the frustration in Martin’s face too. They both knew it wasn’t really working properly, but there was no way Benedict was going to try and address it after Martin had so comprehensively shut him down last time.

Through all this, they had avoided running through the last scene – where John almost kisses Sherlock. When they had spent almost two hours working through what would eventually be only ten minutes or so of actual stage time, Benedict was wound so tight he thought he would explode. Letting out a breath, he stretched, rolling his neck. He could still feel the tightness after his poor sleep on the plane today.

“I know we haven’t finished, but I’m starving.” Martin suddenly announced. Benedict blinked at him. They had been working for a while, and now that he thought about it, the idea of food hadn’t even crossed his mind since they had stepped off the plane.

“There’s a room service menu over there.” Benedict pointed at the little table by the door. Martin took it and had a look, then offered it over. Benedict read the menu and made up his mind immediately.

“I’ll call, shall I?” Martin asked, already walking over to the phone. “What are you having?”

Benedict order a burger and chips – _fries_ , he could never get used to the different term – and he heard Martin order the vegetarian version for himself.

“Won’t be long.” Martin told him, sitting on the chair he’d grabbed from the pile by the phone. They lapsed into silence until Martin asked, “So, tell me about Lucy, and the others. How do you find working with them?”

Ah, work talk. Easy, non-personal. I can do that, Benedict thought. “Lucy’s great,” he replied, dropping down to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall. They chatted impersonally about working on their respective shows – easier now that Benedict had now met so much of the BBC cast – until their room service arrived. It was still strained but marginally better than when they had been working earlier.

“Thirsty?” Benedict asked as the waiter passed Martin an ice-bucket with half a dozen beers in it. The serving plates went on the floor, to the waiter’s confusion, but Martin tipped him and he left.

“Don’t know if you need one, but I do.” Martin said, handing Benedict a cold bottle without meeting his eye. The beer was welcome, Benedict thought as he took a deep draught. He inhaled deeply, the scent of cheese and fries surrounding him as he removed the cloche.

“Awesome,” Benedict muttered, tucking into his meal. He could see Martin doing the same, and they ate voraciously in silence for a while. They’d both relaxed by the time their burgers were gone, which could have been the full stomachs or the two beers each. Either way, things were much better. Benedict wondered if he dared bring up whatever was troubling Martin, but lost his nerve as he watched Martin dragging a chip through the sauce – _ketchup­_ – on his plate. His face was much more open than it had been, and Benedict found himself studying it. In only a couple of days they would part ways again and if the previous forty-odd years were anything to go by, they’d never see each other again. He wondered how Martin felt about that. They had seemed to connect before the Norton show; in fact it had been good up until after the show. They’d talked a little on the way back to their dressing rooms, then not seen each other again until that insanely awkward interaction in the lobby. If only Graham hadn’t come to talk to him, Benedict might have been in the same taxi as Martin. _Graham_. Graham had come to see Benedict. They’d talked about Martin, about how Benedict was attracted to Martin. If Martin had come past to see if Benedict was ready…what if…

Benedict sat up suddenly, scrambled to his feet, breathing deeply. Oh no, no. Shit. Shiiiiiiiit. Martin must have…so now he…SHIT.

“Wh-Benedict?” Martin said, rushing to stand up too, looking at Benedict in alarm.

“You heard us. You heard what Graham and I were talking about.” Benedict said. He’d been hoping for calm but his voice sounded slightly hysterical, even to him. He could feel his chest heaving as the panic rose in him, sending tingling points through his fingers as his lungs fought to draw enough oxygen.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no…” It was like an out of body experience. Benedict felt himself stumble backwards, Martin’s face receding like a Hitchcock zoom as he hit the wall behind. Benedict’s knees went weak and he slid, the floor bumping against his arse, feeling both too close and extremely far away. The blood was rushing in his ears, and he could only just see Martin’s mouth moving, the sound dominated by his own body’s panicked reaction.

“Benedict!” Martin was shouting, Benedict could see. He struggled to control his breathing, knowing his eyes were wide with panic. Looking at Martin was not helping, as he could see how worried he was making the other man. Closing his eyes, Benedict forced himself to take a single deep breath, and hold it. He released slowly, pausing then repeating. In-pause-out-pause. He had to fight himself, his body’s instinctive reaction to breathe faster, but slowly it began to work. His heart slowed, the tingling in his extremities receded, the sound in his ears faded.

“Benedict! Damn it, answer me or I’m calling an ambulance!” Martin’s voice was coming through clearly now, the edge of panic still there.

“No.” Benedict managed, eyes still closed. In-pause-out-pause. “I’m okay.” In-pause-out-pause. “Sorry.” He cracked his eyes open to see Martin crouching beside him. When he managed a weak smile, Martin let out a breath and sat back on his heels, then properly onto the floor. He looked relieved, Benedict saw. As Benedict watched, Martin dropped his head, hiding his face and breathing deeply himself.

“Okay.” Martin said finally, when the two of them had sat in the quiet, each breathing and listening to the sounds of the other breathing in the still room. “We definitely need to talk. This is getting out of hand.” Finally, Benedict thought as he nodded. Finally. Then he remembered what had triggered his panic attack in the first place and his heart sped up again. His eyes went wide and he felt his head snap up to look at Martin, surprised to find the man looking intently at him, too.

“You heard us.” Benedict stated. Martin nodded. They sat with that fact for a moment, neither certain what needed to be said next.

“You know I don’t expect…” Benedict had a good grasp on the beginning of that sentence but not so much the end, so he let it just trail off. Martin could fill in the blanks as he needed.

“I know.” Martin replied. He swallowed, eyes still locked on Benedict, though Benedict’s dropped to follow the path of his Adam’s apple along his throat.

“It’s just…new. All of it.” Benedict sighed. Might as well put it all out there. “I’ve never found myself…attracted to a man before. I thought I could ignore it, maybe. We probably won’t see each other again after all this, so if I could get through a week.” He grinned a sad grin. “But it’s not exactly a typical week, is it. All this Johnlock stuff in _Sherlocked_. Graham saw the dress rehearsal, came and saw me afterwards. He’d picked it, I didn’t bring it up.”

“That’s why he wanted me to know there wouldn’t be questions about the fan stuff, the stories and whatever.” Martin said, realisation dawning.

Benedict nodded. “He wanted to protect, well, both of us, I think. Certainly me. I think he was trying to help, and I didn’t see him again after he dropped in. He was pushing me to do something, to… tell you.” Benedict forced out the last two words, cursing his own cowardice at his inability to say anything more conclusive. He was still looking at Martin, face burning with what was surely a wicked blush as Martin held his eyes. Benedict was concentrating too much on his own words to register the emotions crossing Martin’s face, but once he stopped talking, he took stock. Martin was blushing too, and there was something else there. It wasn’t revulsion, or fear, and Martin hadn’t stormed out or given him a pitying smile, so perhaps their professional relationship was salvageable after all? He waited for Martin to speak, or act in some way; whatever happened now, at least he would know.

“I did hear you.” Martin said. “I’d come to see if you wanted to share a cab. I heard voices but I didn’t think anything of it until you shouted a bit, something about a Herring Pond?” Benedict nodded, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Martin’s story. His eyes were very blue at the moment, Benedict noticed, in the bright room. _Irrelevant_. “And then I heard my name and I knew you were talking about me.” He cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to his hands. His elbows were linked around his bent knees, fingers hooked together. “I’m not proud of this but I bolted. Grabbed a cab and just sat there until I saw you leave. We drove back and I wanted to talk about it but I didn’t know what to say.”

Benedict nodded again, for want of something better to do. What was Martin saying? For all his explanation so far, none of it had been definitively, ‘No, I’m not interested.’

“So…” Benedict finally ventured when it seemed that Martin wasn’t going to continue. Martin didn’t take the hint, and Benedict sighed. He sat up, crossing his long legs and leaning forward. “Look, it’s fine, we’ll just pretend none of it hap-“

He was cut off when Martin scrambled clumsily up, kneeling before Benedict. He was slightly taller than Benedict like this; a detail Benedict only really noticed because Martin’s hands tilted his jaw up while his mouth pressed down against Benedict’s. Martin sat there, mouth pressed against Benedict’s, firmly but not too hard; he was probably waiting for a reaction, Benedict thought dazedly. Hesitantly, he reached one hand up to cover one of Martin’s and pressed forward, putting his own pressure into the kiss. It only lasted a moment before Martin broke it off, sitting back on his heels again and breathing hard. His hands were suspended in mid-air, as though the part of his brain dedicated to lowering them was offline. Benedict’s lips were tingling now; there had been pressure but no friction, and he wondered how it would feel to have Martin’s mouth moving over his. Given his reaction to this simple press of lips, it would be earth shattering. He could see that Martin was equally flabbergasted, sitting still with eyes wide, face now flushed for a very different reason.

“Okay,” Benedict said blankly. “You’re going to have to fill in something in the middle there Martin.”

Martin nodded. He swallowed hard before speaking. “I didn’t know what to say because I feel the same way.” Of all the things in the world Martin could have said in this moment, this hadn’t even occurred to Benedict.

“I beg your pardon?” Benedict whispered.

Martin grinned a little lopsided grin, and Benedict’s heart flipped. “I’ve admired you for a long time, but we really clicked when we met, right?” Benedict nodded. “And it was so easy that first night, eating pizza and watching the football…”

“You left.” Benedict remembered. “Why was that?”

Martin shrugged. “We were talking about the John and Sherlock stuff. I didn’t know what to say about it.”

“So you left.”

“Yes, my lack of emotional intelligence and I legged it, I know it was a bad choice.” Martin said. He sounded apologetic and embarrassed, Benedict registered. Without thinking, he stretched out one hand to cover Martin’s, which had finally dropped to rest on his knee. After a long beat, Martin’s fingers curled around Benedict’s, too. He drew a breath and went on. “I’m not as good as actor as people are going to give me credit for, you know. That was pretty much me in John’s clothes, with John’s words. But the actions were mine.”

“Me too.” Benedict whispered. They smiled at each other, a shy and tentative connection.

“So,” Martin said, his thumb tracing circles on Benedict’s hand. “What…I mean, what now?”

Laughter burbled up in Benedict’s throat. “I have no idea.”

They stared at each other for a moment, before the laughter overtook them both. They were almost hysterical, sitting back on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. Eventually it abated, and Benedict found himself lying on the floor next to Martin.

“How the fuck are we going to do this?” Benedict heard Martin whisper to the room. He reached out blindly, searching for Martin’s hand but finding his groin instead. He pulled back his hand instantly, mortified, until the ridiculousness of the moment took them over again and their laughter rang from the ceiling.

“Oops.” Benedict giggled. “Sorry.”

“I’ll say.” Martin grinned. The tension that had been there was gone, Benedict was happy to realise. They were both happy, knowing they felt the same, though they hadn’t yet had a conversation about where this was going to go, if anywhere. Right in this moment, though, the world was good. He was good.


	11. Chapter 11

The floor, as it turned out, wasn’t all that comfortable, and it wasn’t long before Benedict sat up. He grinned at Martin, still lying stretched out on the floor, arms behind his head.

“You look fairly happy with yourself,” Benedict commented.

Martin shrugged. “What can I say. I kind of am.” With a sigh he sat up too, then glanced at his watch. “We should give it another go through, work out that last scene.”

“And the rest.” Benedict agreed. There were a lot of little spots that could do with improvement, but now, without the unresolved issues between them, he figured they would work a whole lot better.

As it turned out, he was right. They started from the beginning, and Benedict could feel immediately that this was a much smoother run through. They were so much more comfortable with each other, and the small asides about acting choices or blocking were short and usually just a confirmation of their same viewpoint. When they finally made it to the second to last scene, where John and Sherlock almost kiss at Baker Street, the air was far more charged; their eyes met and held, the air crackling between them. Martin didn’t pull out of the ‘almost kiss’, instead allowing his lips to meet Benedict’s, and both enjoyed the quiet intimacy for a moment before breaking away and shedding Sherlock and John. There was no dialogue in the last scene, and no other actors, so neither even bothered to suggest looking at it.

“I wonder how they’d go with that ending,” Martin murmured, eyes still locked on Benedict. Benedict snorted, turning to put his script on the table with the rest of their detritus. “Not sure how it would go across. Show’s not broadcast live, anyway, so they could edit if they wanted to.”

“I didn’t mean just CBS,” Martin said, and Benedict turned to look at him, tilting his head as he listened. “Anyone who sees us actually kiss, let alone like that,” a smile split Benedict’s face, and Martin returned it before continuing, “they’ll have questions. About us, not just Sherlock and John.”

The smile slid from Benedict’s face as he heard the serious question behind Martin’s slightly jesting tone. He was right, of course. There was always a bit of ‘are they or aren’t they’ with the pairs of actors who played Sherlock and John, but the scrutiny on he and Martin, with the unusual way in which they’d found themselves playing opposite each other, was more intense. Not to mention they would go immediately from filming this to a live interview with James.

“I know.” Benedict replied, searching Martin’s face. It was one of the perils of their business – you often had to make decisions about relationships far earlier than anyone who was not in the public light. Right now, he was just pleased to have the overall uncertainly lifted. He didn’t know if Martin wanted a relationship, a shag or just a warm body for a couple of nights, but it didn’t matter yet. They would have to make some sort of decision, though, and part of that would be how they handled their public images.

“Katie’s gonna kill me, you know.” Benedict thought aloud.

“Who’s Katie?” Martin asked.

“Publicist, PA and all around CEO of my life,” he replied. “She doesn’t even like it when I chose ice-cream without consulting her.” He shrugged. “It hasn’t mattered until now, I haven’t-“ he cut himself off abruptly. Seeing Martin’s curious face, Benedict said carefully, “I will finish that sentence for you, but not right now.”

Martin nodded slowly. “We’ll have to make some decisions, for sure.”

Benedict started picking up his bits and pieces, stacking the trays and cloches on another table near the door. “Let’s talk tomorrow. We have carpool karaoke in the morning, then maybe we should meet later at the studio to block this out properly?”

“Sounds good.” Martin replied. “We could talk over dinner, then.” The atmosphere had become more serious as each started thinking about the conversation they’d be having the following evening. Martin stepped over to Benedict, whose hands were full of script, pen, cardigan, and room key, and pressed his lips to the corner of Benedict’s mouth. “Tomorrow may test both our acting skills, I think.”

Benedict nodded, even the small contact having set his heart racing again. Martin had not pulled back very far after bestowing his kiss, and Benedict could duck in and sneak another without needing his hands. He felt his eyes close, the warm air between them adding to the intimacy. By silent mutual agreement the kiss broke, matching soppy grins on their faces.

“This’ll get sorted by housekeeping?” Martin confirmed, and Benedict nodded. He assumed so – it was a pretty nice hotel, after all. They took the elevator back to their floor, pausing outside Martin’s room, one down from Benedict’s door.

“See you tomorrow.” Martin said, his eyes twinkling.

“Night.” Benedict replied, a little puzzled at the amused look on Martin’s face.

They parted, Benedict walking the extra five steps to his own room, and it wasn’t until he was inside that he understood the joke. There was a quiet tapping on their adjoining door. The understanding painted a smile on his face; when he unlocked the door, he found Martin lounging against the doorjamb, waiting for him.

“You didn’t think that would really suffice for goodnight, did you?” Martin murmured, and he pulled Benedict down into a proper kiss.

+++

The next morning, Benedict studiously avoided thinking about that adjoining door. He made sure his phone alarm was on loud, leaving him plenty of time to shower and dress. Tempted though he was to ask Martin to eat with him in the restaurant, Benedict knew it would be courting trouble to do so. There was no way they would be able to sit like a pair of colleagues, and nobody these days went even to breakfast without a mobile phone. If Katie would be a bit mad about the Martin thing now, she’d positively kill him if there were photos of the two acting all lovey-dovey before she’d even heard about it. Benedict was determined to talk to Martin before Katie; there wasn’t that much to tell until they had spoken and decided where to go, anyway.

When he was ready, five minutes before their lift was due, Benedict knocked on the outside door of Martin’s room. The two of them coming out of one bedroom would be a disaster, he knew. Waiting impatiently, Benedict tugged at the sleeve of his jacket – he felt like it was slightly too short, though Katie assured him it looked fine. When Martin opened the door, Benedict stepped back, keeping a careful distance between them.

“Morning.” Benedict murmured, affection hopefully visible in his gaze.

“Morning.” Martin replied, his eyes warm.

 “Carpool karaoke, hey?” Martin asked as they rode down in the lift. Benedict was doing his best to ignore Martin’s presence, which was difficult because he smelled good and kept shifting his weight, making Benedict more aware than ever.

“Yep.” Benedict answered.

“Can you sing?” Martin asked.

“A bit. Nothing brilliant but should be okay.” Benedict knew his responses were short, and he shot a look at Martin. He tried to say ‘sorry this is really difficult I’m just trying to concentrate on getting out of here without embarrassing us both’, and it must have worked to some degree, because Martin grinned and winked at him, just as the lift doors opened.

It was actually a member of Late Show staff that picked them up, dropping them at the corner where James would collect the pair for the filming. They didn’t have to wait long, the black SUV pulling up with James gesturing to them from the driver’s seat.

“Here we go.” Martin murmured, as he climbed into the back, giving Benedict the front.

James was excited, as always on camera. They spent two hours driving around New York, singing and talking about _Sherlocked_ as well as other things both actors had in the works. It was exhausting, partly because Benedict was massively self-conscious about himself singing, partly because he was so aware of what he said and how he said it about Martin, and partly because of Martin himself. Several times Martin leaned forward, his hand resting on the edge of Benedict’s seat as he spoke to James; while the tips of his fingers barely brushed Benedict’s shoulder, the contact seared through his jacket and shirt and into his skin. At least, with Martin behind him, they didn’t have to worry about meeting eyes or any other semi-disastrous events. The morning seemed to run on forever, song after song as they drove in aimless circles. Just when Benedict couldn’t bear another teasing whiff of Martin’s aftershave from the backseat, they were done.

“Thanks for this, it’s great.” James said once more. He’d parked somewhere so they could talk with the cameras off for a bit. “They’ll edit out most of it of course. We can look at it tomorrow if you want before it goes out.”

“That’d be great.” Benedict said, and Martin echoed him.

“What are your plans for lunch?” James asked them both. “We could head to Lighthouse, if you like.”

“I’m meeting Patrick Wilson, actually, thanks though.” Martin told him. “Haven’t seen him since _Fargo_ , and he’s doing that thing on Broadway now.”

James nodded. “Yeah of course, no worries. Benedict?”

Benedict would have loved a few more hours sleep, but lunch with James wasn’t the worst option out there. It would be good to catch up with his friend. “Sure, sounds great.” They agreed to meet at Lighthouse, James needing to drop Martin back and return the car. “I’ll just sort the afternoon out with Martin and see you there.” Benedict told James, who waved one hand in acknowledgement before joining the flow of traffic. He and Martin walked into the lobby of the hotel, gravitating towards a semi-private alcove for a conversation.

“Do you really have a lunch date?” Benedict asked Martin as they stood in the shelter of the large palm trees designed to bring some greenery into the otherwise stark lobby.

“I do, actually.” Martin replied. “I really haven’t seen Patrick since _Fargo_.” A smirk crossed his face. “Though I don’t relish the idea of sitting with James over lunch. He’ll have the truth out of you, Benedict.” Despite his teasing tone Benedict could hear the tension in Martin’s voice.

“Even if he does, which he won’t,” Benedict said firmly, “James and I have been friends for a long time. He wouldn’t spill that kind of a secret.”

“What kind would he spill?” Martin asked curiously.

“Embarrassing stories and photos are prime targets for him,” Benedict replied, “so be prepared.”

Martin laughed at that, so Benedict figured he felt reassured about James’ discretion.

“I’d better go,” Martin said, glancing at his watch. He looked back up at Benedict, allowing a proper smile cross his face, right up to his eyes. “Meet about 3 at the studio?”

“Katie’s arranged it. I’ll keep in touch.” Benedict replied.

They smiled at each other for a moment before Martin said quietly, “Bye, then.”

Benedict watched him go for a moment before schooling his face and looking at his own watch. Enough time to go upstairs and grab his script before leaving for the restaurant. He could do with a distraction on the way to the restaurant. As long as he didn’t read the last two scenes, he’d be fine.

+++

“Hey, James,” Benedict greeted his friend, grinning as James saw him and stood for a hug.

“Benedict. Good to see you. Again, I mean.”

Benedict grinned back at James as they sat. The table was carefully positioned, like all those in this exclusive place, offering enough privacy that they could converse without being overheard.

“So tell me about this whole _Sherlocked_ thing, how’s it all going?” James asked, after they’d ordered drinks.

“Yeah, good. It’s good.” Benedict replied. He and James went back a long way, but as the man about to interview him on international television, Benedict wasn’t sure how much he should say. Personally he trusted James but he felt like he was betraying Martin’s confidence by bringing up the topic unless James asked him explicitly. “I’m enjoying it, but the flights were a killer.”

“Yeah, it’s not that far but kicks you around, doesn’t it?” James asked as their drinks were delivered. “Did you get about to see any of your family or anything while you were over there?” They went on to discuss some family stuff, reminiscences from the old days, before the waiter brought out their lunch. Once he’d left and they’d started eating, James asked the question Benedict had been both dreading and waiting for.

“So how is it working with Martin?”

Striving for casual, Benedict managed, “Good. It’s different to working on _Elementary_ , of course. I’ve never worked with Martin, so it’s...good.” He cringed inwardly at his awkward answer, looking at his plate as he chased a piece of tomato around.

“Good, hey?” James repeated, before going on, “I’ve read the script for tomorrow.” He stopped, apparently waiting for a reply. Benedict had no idea what to say to that so he just waited, eyes still glued to his plate. He knew he looked guilty as hell, but there was no way he could bluff his way out of it. Not with James, who not only knew him well but had a knack for guessing the exact thing you were hoping he wouldn’t.

“Yeah?” Benedict said finally, the tension getting too much.

“Have you guys worked through it?” James asked, and Benedict could feel James’ eyes boring into his head.

“We had a read through on the plane, then a rehearsal last night.” Benedict confirmed. He didn’t offer any more details, and the silence hung awkwardly.

“I’m guessing the rehearsal last night went badly then,” James ventured. He was so far wrong that Benedict almost laughed. “Katie said things had been a bit strained between you and Martin since London.” James added. Benedict had to decide – should he deceive his friend, leading him on that things weren’t good? It wasn’t really a great option, besides, James would see him and Martin on set tomorrow.

“Yeah, we talked last night and figured it out.” Benedict said, groping for the middle ground between truth and discretion. When James didn’t answer, Benedict risked looking up. The blond man had put down his cutlery and was looking at him, sitting back in his chair. Benedict felt himself shifting uncomfortably under the shrewd gaze of his friend. The more he shifted, the harder James stared, until Benedict could almost see the answer appearing in his head. Shit.

“Ben,” James started. He was the only one who ever called him that, and only when he was going to say something serious. With an immense effort, Benedict held his eyes. “Mate,” James started again, then shook his head. “Bloody hell. Okay, I’m just going to say it. The two of you couldn’t have been more aware of each other this morning. He spent most of the time watching you and forgetting the words and you jumped a mile every time he touched your shoulder, which was totally unnecessary by the way. If I didn’t know Martin’s a bloke and you’re straight, I’d think you and this co-star of yours were hooking up.”

Benedict said nothing, just holding James’ gaze, feeling his cheeks heat up as James’ smile faded and he sat forward. “Ben?” James asked cautiously.

“Yeah. Just…yeah.” It was the answer to the unasked question, and the both knew it.

“Wow. Really? Wow. Okay.” James said, eyes wide. He took a breath, then grinned at his friend, restoring some sense of normality to the situation.

“James…” Benedict started, then stopped. He had no idea what to say, or how to say any of it. James held up a hand, stopping whatever it was he was about to say.

“The only thing I want to know is, are you happy?” James asked quietly.

Benedict’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he nodded. “Yeah," he replied, and when James grinned at him, he felt a real smile on his face.

“That’s more like it,” James said. “So I’m guessing the last couple of scenes won’t be an issue, then?” Benedict, mouth full of food now that he actually felt hungry, gave him a reproachful look. “That’d be a no, then.” James answered himself.

“Not as such, no,” Benedict confirmed, swallowing. He could feel his face still warmer than usual, and knew he looked smitten. Thank God James was being low-key about it all.

“Right, well let’s pretend that’s something I don’t know, unless you want to talk about it?” James asked breezily, and in the moment Benedict was supremely grateful for his friend.

“Not really. I mean, there’s nothing much to say. We haven’t really talked.” Benedict started. He kind of did want to talk about it but he had no idea how to take the jumble in his head and have it make sense.

“Woah, too much info, mate!” James laughed, and Benedict felt his face flare into another fierce blush.

“That’s not what I meant, James.” Benedict said compellingly, though he was still smiling.

“Yeah, yeah,” James smirked.

“Seriously, we haven’t talked about anything.”

“So you’ll have to talk tonight, then? I mean he flies back to London…”

“Tomorrow night, yeah.”

James nodded, sitting back and looking speculatively at Benedict. He waited for Benedict to finish eating and their plates to be cleared before leaning forward and speaking. “So, what are you thinking, then?”

Benedict shrugged. He held his water glass in two fingers, twisting it against the heavy fabric of the tablecloth. “I don’t know. He’s in London, mostly, and I’m over here.”

“We both know things can work, though. And you won’t be here forever.”

Benedict looked sharply up at James, who was smirking again. “Gossip gets around, Ben. I know you haven’t signed on for the next season of _Elementary_ , but the network’s green lighted two more series.”

“True.” Benedict replied. He didn’t know how to explain it. “I’m just…I think I’m done with the character, you know?” James nodded, and encouraged, Benedict went on. “It’s been great, don’t get me wrong, but there are other things I want to do. I miss the theatre. There are some amazing opportunities out there right now, some really great roles.”

“On the West End?” James asked.

Benedict nodded. “Katie would kill me for telling you this, but Nick Dear has been asking if I’d consider coming back to work with Johnny Lee Miller on an adaptation of _Frankenstein_.” James’ eyebrows had risen at Nick’s name and his mouth had dropped open at the rest of the sentence.

“Bloody hell.” James breathed. He shook his head. “You have to do it, Ben. That’s…that’s amazing. Does he want you for the man or the monster?”

Benedict felt a smile break his face at the very idea as he answered, “Both. We’d be alternating the roles. He’s envisioning a very physical monster, a very difficult role.” He let out a breathless kind of laugh. “It sounds fantastic.”

“Yeah it does!” James said, evidently still in awe of the opportunity being offered to Benedict. “So that means you’d be back in London, what…”

“Four months.” Benedict answered almost immediately. “In four months.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve made up your mind, mate.” James declared. “Does that help you decide about…the other thing?”

Benedict frowned, and James mouthed ‘Martin’. Benedict bobbed his head, considering. “I don’t think so. I think I’d want the same thing either way. It would just be easier with me in London.”

“Assuming he’ll be there too.” James pointed out.

“Yes, thank you for that factor I had not considered at all.” Benedict retorted. They grinned at each other for a moment before Benedict sighed and looked at his watch. Half two. “I should go, I’m meeting Martin at the studio to block tomorrow properly.”

“Yeah, no worries.” James said. “Look, before you go. You know tomorrow, I’ll have to ask about the working together thing, and the Johnlock thing. There’s probably an intern doing research on fan fiction or art or something too.” He looked uncomfortable, worried, Benedict thought. “I won’t dwell on it, but it’ll be weirder if I don’t mention it, yeah?”

“I know, mate. Martin and I’ll talk about it tonight, probably.” Benedict pulled James into a hug, hoping to portray some of the gratitude he felt to his friend. “Thanks mate. I trust you. Thanks.”

“Ta. I’m happy for you mate, really chuffed.” James replied, slapping him on the back before the hug broke. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“See you then.” Benedict replied. He walked out, hailed a cab and sent a text to Martin.

 

_Leaving Lighthouse now. See you soon? – Benedict_

_I’m here already. P had a meeting at 2.30. Can’t wait. – MF_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> META NOTES  
> *I have no idea if the guests get to vet the cut of carpool karaoke; I like to think that James is doing it as a favour to Benedict and because he saw the chemistry between them and wants to help them feel in control of what goes out about them together.  
> *It’s convenient that James and Benedict are old friends, therefore I made it so.  
> *Patrick is Patrick Wilson, a co-star of Martin’s in Fargo. I have no idea if he’s currently (or ever) on Broadway.  
> *Lighthouse is not a real restaurant (sorry about that).  
> *Benedict and Johnny Lee Miller (who plays Sherlock in RL Elementary) alternated the roles of the man and the monster in Nick Dear’s adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in 2011. Please don’t think that pinpoints the dates of this story; it’s a coincidence.


	12. Chapter 12

To Benedict’s relief, the afternoon had run smoothly. He and Martin blocked most of the scenes easily, giving them only minor adjustments for the next day when the rest of the cast came on set for the final run through before the afternoon taping. When they were done, they had a muttered conversation, ostensibly as they looked over a page of the script, before breaking apart and speaking at normal volume.

“There’s gotta be some football on somewhere, right?” Benedict asked casually.

Martin nodded, equally casual. “Gotta be. Room service, a few beers?”

Benedict considered it as though he might actually say no. “Sure. Buzz me later, I’ll probably have a shower or whatever.”

“No problem. I’m gonna find James first, quick question.” Martin replied, and they nodded a goodbye before going their separate ways. It would have been agony to share a cab, but they needed a legitimate reason not to. So Martin stayed to ‘look for James’, while Benedict made his way back to the hotel, anticipation of the evening thrumming in his veins.

He wasn’t thinking about sex – that seemed too much so soon – but the idea of a few precious hours when he didn’t need to guard what he said, or how he looked at Martin, seemed blissful. Already, he was finding it exhausting to be conscious all the time about how he behaved around Martin. If they did decide to continue with this...whatever it was, it might actually be easier in different cities. At least he wouldn’t need to be so careful every day. Although that would be because he wouldn’t be able to see Martin every day, or even every week. Benedict mulled this over in the cab back. Even if they did base themselves in the same city, the nature of their work would mean periods of time when they weren’t in the same country. It could be managed, of course, but still…

The same thoughts were still rolling over in Benedict’s mind when he stepped out of the shower an hour later. His pruny fingers told him he’d spent way too long in there, lost in his own thoughts. It had been worth it though – he’d figured out where he stood a lot more clearly. Now it just remained to speak to Martin and see if their perspectives matched.

As he dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, Benedict felt his heart begin to speed up. He was thinking about Martin and James – would they really have spoken? Was it just a ruse for anyone listening, or would Martin actually have sought James out? It was possible Martin would sense that James knew more than he said, especially if their conversation touched on the Johnlock thing. Benedict shuddered. He regretted confirming James’ suspicions at lunch, but he was terrible at keeping his emotions in check in situations like that. If Martin found out and thought Benedict had been…Benedict cut off his train of thought right there. He and Martin were about to have a conversation, for goodness’ sake. They were adults, and if Benedict was honest and Martin was reasonable, it would be fine. All fine.

Towelling off his hair one last time Benedict hung up his towel and grabbed his phone.

 

 _I’m here. Door’s open. -  M_ [12 min ago]

 

Benedict nodded to himself, took a deep breath and walked over to their adjoining door. He hesitated only a second before knocking and opening it, peering around the door. Martin’s room was a mirror of his own. The only difference was that while Benedict was tidy, Martin’s room was a disaster of clothes, accessories and papers spread on every surface.

“Jesus, Martin.” Benedict found himself saying. “We’ve only been here one day.”

Martin, sitting up on the bed watching television, flipped him the bird without looking. He was smiling as though he was trying to hold it in and failing, so Benedict took that as his cue to join him.

“Shift over.” Benedict grumbled, and Martin, still engrossed in whatever was playing on television, shuffled over without looking until he fell off the edge of the bed, arms flailing. Benedict rolled back away from the edge, laughing hard. He couldn’t see Martin, but he heard, “What the f…” followed by the weight of someone landing on the bed next to him. Before he could move, Martin’s fingers wrapped around Benedict’s wrists, pinning them to the bed as he laughed. Martin’s body was now pressing a breathless Benedict into the pillows. He levered his upper body over Benedict’s, his face hovering close without touching. Benedict could feel the laughter still bubbling in him, buoyed by the amused scowl on Martins’ face.

“Are you okay?” Benedict managed, before breaking into uncontrollable giggles once more. Martin’s expression didn’t change, but he lowered his head and pressed his lips to the skin just visible at the neck of Benedict’s t-shirt. Immediately the laughter died, replaced by a sharp intake of breath as Benedict arched into the contact. It was quite static, Martin holding his position as Benedict bucked once beneath him. Several long seconds later he pulled back, the irritation replaced with a smug look.

“I think I’ll live.” Martin replied. He lowered his head, lips almost brushing Benedict’s, listening to the whine that rose from Benedict’s open mouth. When Benedict tried to lift his head to meet Martin’s mouth, the sandy blond head jerked backwards, out of reach. When Benedict finally accepted that he was in charge, relaxing and waiting, Martin slowly began to bring his mouth back down. A ghost of a smile before their lips met finally, dual sighs of contentment mingling in the air. The kiss was a slow greeting, acknowledging the distance that had stood between them all day. It deepened, tongues touching lips, tasting soft skin before dipping in to meet each other. Benedict felt Martin’s fingers loosen on his wrists and he took the opportunity to bury one hand in Martin’s hair. The groan this elicited made Benedict shudder, his already elevated heart rate jumping again. Without thinking about it he rolled closer, sliding his free hand across Martin’s lower back, feeling the muscles tense as Martin held his body over Benedict. It was different, he registered, different but good. Very good. Especially when Martin did that thing with his tongue. Benedict had no idea what it was but he was pretty sure the whiny noise he was making every time was because of that. When Martin did it again ( _Oh, God_ ), Benedict pressed on Martin’s back, bringing them in even closer, instinctively pressing their bodies together.

“Oh!” Benedict gasped, pulling away. He was breathing hard, eyes wide as he stared at Martin, who looked wrecked. Thoroughly kissed, hair mussed on one side where Benedict had run one hand through it, eyes heavy with confusion. Benedict knew he had about two seconds to explain that he hadn’t been expecting to be reminded in such an intimate way that Martin was in fact a male. A well-proportioned male, from the feel of it, and his face burst into a fierce blush at the thought.

“Ah,” Martin said, understanding dawning as Benedict’s face burned. “Yeah.” He wriggled back, sitting up a little. “It’s different.”

“Yeah.” Benedict replied. He sat up too, intensely aware of the distance between them again. He took a deep breath and added, “I didn’t even think about it.” His face burned, “well, of course I did, but…” he trailed off, amazed and frustrated with himself that this was so difficult. He felt fifteen again, gauche and inexperienced.

“I know what you mean.” Martin said, and his smile made Benedict relax.

“Is this…I mean, have you ever been with a man before?” Benedict asked.  When Martin shook his head, Benedict nodded. So they were on the same page, then. Good.

“Take it slow?” Martin asked. In answer, Benedict interlaced his long fingers with Martin’s shorter ones, resting them together on the duvet between them. They both smiled, the tension that had built after Benedict broke their kiss dissipating.

“Hungry?” Martin asked.

Benedict grinned and opened his mouth to speak but laughter burbled out instead. Martin raised his eyebrows and Benedict fought to reign it in. He took a deep breath and replied unsteadily, “Starving.” The expectant look in his eye tipped Martin that the quote from _Sherlock_ was intentional.

“How did you know that?” Martin asked curiously. His thumb was rubbing gently along the side of Benedict’s hand, which was both reassuring and distracting.

“I may have watched the pilot last night,” Benedict admitted. He hadn’t been able to settle, and flicking through Netflix had stumbled upon it.

“The real pilot, or the gay pilot?” Martin asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Benedict replied automatically as his brain scrambled to catch up. Nothing about that sentence had made sense.

Martin sighed, an embarrassed kind of grin on his face. “We filmed one pilot for TV, when there were going to be half a dozen 60 minute episodes. Then the BBC decided they wanted three 90 minute episodes so we reshot it. The first one has been christened ‘The Gay Pilot’ by our lovely fans.”

Benedict raised one eyebrow. “I have no idea how long it went for.” He felt his lip twitch as he asked, “What made it so, um, gay?” The twitch spread into a grin as Martin gave him an exasperated look.

“Okay. Fine. The ‘Gay Pilot’,” he used his free hand to make exaggerated air quotes, “followed Mark’s favourite Sherlock adaptation, _The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes_ a little too closely.” Benedict raised his eyebrows – he’d watched bits and pieces of other actors portraying Sherlock, and that one in particular had stood out as particularly effeminate.

“Riiiiight.” He said.

Martin went on, “A few too many lingering looks, a ridiculous shot of Matt on a roof like bloody Batman, the date at Angelo’s was far more intimate.” Martin reeled off the list of points, rolling his eyes at the Batman analogy.

“Yep, definitely that one.” Benedict confirmed. “Personally I liked the open necked shirts John wore.” He squeezed Martin’s had as he spoke, softening the tease. Martin didn’t rise to the barb, instead simply shaking his head.

“I’ll order something, shall I?” Martin asked.

“Sounds good. Maybe less of the Americana this time?” Benedict asked. Martin leaned in and pecked a kiss to his lips before releasing their fingers and rolling off the bed. Benedict stretched, the cool patch on his palm drawing his attention. He rubbed at it absently with his other thumb.

“So what’s next for you, professionally?” Benedict asked when Martin returned. He’d climbed right onto the bed next to Benedict, stretching out next to him and taking his hand again.

“Nothing for a bit.” Martin replied. “Next series of _Sherlock_ isn’t shooting for six months or so, Matt’s doing some stage work. So I’m free once I’ve done some publicity next week.”

Benedict nodded, his brain working overtime. Was Martin offering to come back to New York? Was he inviting Benedict to London? Making small talk, leading up to conversation about other plans…too many options.

“Do you have any plans?” Benedict asks tentatively. He cursed himself for not having the balls to just ask Martin if he’d come back for a visit.

“Not yet.” Martin replied. Benedict was still looking at the ceiling, but he nodded. There was silence, while Benedict mentally steeled himself to say something.

“Maybe…” Martin started, just as Benedict said, “Perhaps…”

They stopped, heads turning to look at each other. Benedict slid down, lying flat on the bed beside Martin, who’d turned to face him. They were curled toward each other now, and Martin reached to reconnect, their hands having parted when Benedict shifted. His fingers curved into Benedict’s again, resting on the bed near their chests. It was odd looking at Martin like this, Benedict thought, but only because it was unfamiliar. It also felt very, very right. The silence, preluded by their aborted words, wound on, warm and comfortable.

“I was going to suggest,” Benedict blurted, his mouth finally taking advice from his brain, “that you could come for a visit, if you wanted to.” Before he’d even finished, Martin was grinning, a wide uncensored reaction to Benedict’s words. As soon as Benedict had finished speaking, Martin shook his hand free, pressing it to Benedict’s cheek as he brought their lips together. Startled though he was, Benedict managed to kiss back. When Martin pulled back, his whole face radiated happiness. Foreheads touching, Martin’s hand still caressing his face, Benedict felt more cherished than he could remember.

“So that’s a yes, then?” Benedict managed.

Martin smiled the kind of smile that said ‘give me a minute so I don’t cry here.’ Benedict gave him that moment, content to watch that expressive face change as emotions flitted over it. “It’s a yes. I was going to suggest the same.” He frowned for a moment, and Benedict found himself in the unexpected position of reassuring Martin when he said, “Are we on the same page here? I’m visiting as an excuse to see you. I don’t care if you’re here or on a barge in the middle of the North Atlantic.”

“I’ll be done with the barge before you get here,” Benedict told him, the gentle tease tempered by his smile and a soft kiss. “Yes. Yes, I want you to visit. I want to show you around, but I mainly want to spend time with you.” He kissed Martin again, a slightly longer press of sensitive skin. “Like this, if you’d be agreeable.” Martin hummed a contented sound, which Benedict took as affirmation, and they traded gentle soft kisses in the cocoon of warmth their shared breath created. Only when the room service arrived did they stand up, Benedict answering the door while Martin used the facilities.

Once the bellhop had departed, Benedict lifted the cloches, wondering what Martin had ordered. Relieved it wasn’t burgers and fries again, he turned to Martin, who had just returned. As Benedict opened his mouth to speak, Martin stopped very close, sliding his arms around Benedict and ducking under his arm. When he looked up, the words fell away from Benedict’s tongue. Martin looked so happy and relaxed it filled Benedict with contentment. They smiled at each other for a moment before Benedict dropped a soft kiss on Martin’s temple.

“Good choice,” he said, indicating the spread of Indian food. They filled plates and sat at the tiny table, knees bumping under the cramped space.

“I’ll book flights back…hang on, what are your plans for the next few months?” Martin asked, taking a mouthful of eggplant curry.

Benedict chewed and swallowed before answering, “ _Elementary_ has wrapped for the season. The new Avengers starts next week but I’m not on set for ten days or so.” He tore off a piece of naan, saying, “That’s about five weeks, then…” He shrugged. He wasn’t sure he was ready to tell Martin about _Frankenstein_ quite yet – Katie had told him the contract would arrive in the next day or so, and he’d rather have that signed before he started really telling people. Not that Martin was ‘people’ but still.

“You could come over to London, then,” Martin said, flicking a glance at Benedict. A slow smile spread over Benedict’s face at the idea – Martin didn’t know he might be over in London for much longer than a short visit – and he looked up at Martin.

“Love to.” Benedict said simply.

“Okay, well I’ll book to come here after my publicity stuff is done, then you can come over to London after Avengers.” Martin looked so happy about the idea that Benedict completely ignored his previous decision.

“I’m moving back to London, actually.” Benedict blurted, immediately both regretting and not regretting his decision. He looked apprehensively at Martin.

“What?” Martin asked blankly. “I thought _Elementary_ was booked for another two seasons!”

“It is.” Benedict told him. _God, Katie’s gonna kill me for telling him this._ “Look, I haven’t really told anyone this, and Katie’s still trying to get me to agree to their frankly obscene offer, but I haven’t signed on for the next season.”

Martin gaped at him. “What, I mean, how…?”

Benedict felt himself flush, embarrassed to admit how hard they were chasing him to continue. “They’ve pushed filming back a year. They hope I’ll do the West End season and then come back.”

“But you don’t want to.” Martin stated.

Benedict shook his head. “I’m just done, you know?” He sighed, pushing his plate away, appetite fading with this conversation. “I’ve done a lot with Sherlock and between you and I, I don’t like what they’re proposing for the next season. Sherlock’s going to be…different. More emotional, less logical. Shaun Yeoman’s the head writer and he won’t budge. Apparently it’s not my place to make writing decisions.” He was quite pleased to see how indignant Martin was at the writer’s attitude.

“What the hell does he mean?” Martin exploded. “You’ve been Sherlock for the last six seasons, you know him better than anybody! This is his first head writer gig, isn’t it?” Benedict nodded, and Martin sat back, crossing his arms and saying, “Well, he’ll get a whole lot of pressure from higher up if they find out it’s the writing that’s keeping you away.”

“I know.” Benedict said. “That’s why I haven’t told them. I don’t want them to convince me to stay.” He shrugged. “I want to live in London again. Well, England, at least. I want to do more stage work, West End stuff.”

Martin looked closely at him then said decisively, “You’ve been offered something.”

Benedict nodded, unsure if he should keep talking. “Yes.”

His uncertainty eased when Martin broke into a smile and said, “Well let me know when you’ve signed, I’d love to hear about it. I’m just glad you’ll be coming home.”

It sounded oddly intimate, Benedict thought, as though he was returning specifically to Martin. It was nice, not as scary as he’d thought it would be. “Thanks,” he said, and they met over the food for a kiss. He looked down at his plate. “I’m done.”

“Me, too.” Martin said. They bussed their plates back to the trolley, leaving it in the corridor for collection. Benedict yawned, mortified until he saw Martin echoing the action.

“I’m for bed,” Martin admitted. “Didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

“Me either,” Benedict agreed. There was an awkward silence, until Martin offered tentatively, “Do you, I mean you don’t have to, but if you want to sleep in here, just sleep…” he ran one hand nervously through his hair, tilting his head sideways up to look at Benedict.

“Give me a few minutes,” Benedict replied, grinning. Martin’s face flushed, which was frankly adorable, and Benedict chuckled as he opened the adjoining door again. Things were looking good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> META NOTES  
> *Mark Gatiss really does cite 'The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes' as one of his key inspirations for the BBC show.  
> *It's true that they filmed what has become known as 'The Gay Pilot' for an initial series of 60 minutes shows, then completely reshot it when the BBC decided on 90 minutes shows instead. On the off chance you haven't seen it, find 'The Unaired Pilot' (as it's officially known) and have a look, it's basically Johnlock.  
> *Shaun Yeoman is completely fictional
> 
> I have no idea how American TV shooting schedules and the West End Theatre season align. In this AU, they happen to work in perfectly. What a happy coincidence. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I've been focusing on my NaNo writing, but since that's under control I'm gonna try and finish this story for all you patient souls. Only one chapter after this! Thank you so much for reading! <3

Benedict woke to a text message the following morning. Looking at the time, he was glad his phone had actually pinged – he and Martin really should get up. They’d have to be at the studio by late morning for a dress rehearsal before filming this afternoon. Butterflies flooded his stomach as he thought of the next morning – when Martin would be back on a plane to London. Back across the herring pond, Benedict thought grumpily.

 

_Ready? – James_

 

Of course.

_I’ve got your back, brother. – James_

 

Thanks, mate.

 

Benedict felt strangely buoyed by the brief exchange with James Corden. He’d texted with one hand, the other still trapped beneath the figure tucked into his side. Pitching his phone onto the carpet beside the bed, Benedict rolled back towards Martin, running his palm down the tempting expanse of exposed skin across his shoulder and upper arm. The gentle hum in response made him smile – Martin was close to waking. A smile tugging at his lips, Benedict trailed his fingertips, deliberately feather-light, across Martin’s back. Goosebumps rose and Martin squirmed, his brow furrowing a little in protest. Benedict chuckled, the sound deep and throaty.

“That tickles.” Martin’s voice was fuzzy, his eyes still closed as he turned his head inward, pressing a kiss to the naked skin beneath. Benedict drew a breath as Martin’s rough chin dragged across his chest.

“Good morning,” Benedict murmured.

“I can feel you talking.” Martin replied, pressing his palm over Benedict’s breastbone. The rumble started as a deliberate growl, changing into another throaty chuckle as Martin’s fingers wiggled against his ribs.

“That tickles,” Benedict consciously echoed Martin’s previous comment. Martin stretched, groaning as his joints popped. They both rolled onto their backs, and Martin spoke first.

“Today, then,” he said, turning his head to look across at Benedict. “How do you want to play it?”

Benedict thought about it, his heart beating harder as he considered the possibilities. “We’re not going public, right?” It seemed like an obvious statement, but he didn’t want any misunderstandings.

“Um, no.” Martin replied firmly.

“Good,” Benedict replied, following up quickly with, “I mean, not that I want to keep it secret but…”

“I know,” Martin said quietly, reaching for Benedict’s hand. It should have been a tender moment, but Benedict gave a snort of laughter. “What?” Martin asked.

Benedict shook his head, struggling to control the shakes. When he finally calmed down, he explained. “Do you remember a couple of nights ago? We were lying in that room downstairs, and I reached for your hand but…”

Laughter burbled up as Martin remembered, “You groped me instead.”

Benedict cringed, remembering his mortification at the moment. They’d only just had that conversation, each realising the other was interested in a relationship. A little early for that kind of contact.

“Well now that I’ve got you in bed,” Martin said, rolling on top of Benedict, grinning widely, “maybe now’s a more appropriate time for that.”

Although Martin was lying more or less on top of Benedict, he wasn’t pushing their bodies together – offering but not insisting. Their bodies had other ideas, though; Benedict could feel his morning wood, more insistent than usual after his unusual bed situation, thickening at the suggestive pose he found himself in. From what he could see of Martin – quickening breathing, wide pupils, he wasn’t the only one affected by their proximity. Anxiety bloomed in his chest, heart suddenly thrumming fast as a hummingbird. His face must have changed, because Martin dropped a quick kiss on his mouth and rolled off.

“Pretty sure we’ll be late if we don’t get moving,” Martin said lightly, the warm smile reassurance that he was okay. He tugged at Benedict’s hand, pulling him to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin standing between his legs. Martin’s hands sat on his shoulders, thumbs brushing against his collarbones.

“We never really answered that question,” Benedict said. “Clearly we’re not going to…” he paused, searching for the right word.

“Expose ourselves? Expose each other?” Martin offered, mouth quirking.

Benedict gave him a reproachful look, instead saying, “go public.” Martin raised his eyebrows in amusement, though he nodded in agreement. “We did a pretty good job last week, should we do the same?” Benedict asked.

“More panto, less straight, then.” Martin summarized, again showing amusement at his double entendre.

“Exactly.” Benedict gave up, smiling up at Martin. “This is unusual,” he noted, the teasing tone now in his voice, “it’s not often I’m shorter than you.”

Martin rolled his eyes, stepping back to allow Benedict to stand up. “We should get going.” He noted. “Thirty minutes?”

“Indeed, Watson.” Benedict said, offering his fist.

Martin groaned. “Not the fist-bumping again.” Nevertheless, he touched his knuckles to Benedict’s before ushering him back to his own suite.

+++

The rest of the day was very similar to that before the Norton interview – Benedict felt an odd sense of déjà vu, seeing Martin, knowing they would be playing Sherlock and Watson together before an interview. It was his supporting cast this time and the different dynamic was another factor for them to take into their performance, but Martin and Benedict found the rhythm easy enough to find again. After all the awkwardness and then the resolution, they read each other so well that the rehearsal was as smooth as if they had all figured it out beforehand. Sherlock and John were as they had been in London, playing off each other with ease and an underlying tension that was ostensibly unresolved sexual tension. Now, of course, it was only unresolved because Benedict had shied away from Martin that morning. He was putting that firmly to the side for later examination. There was no point trying to work through it now – he and Martin had to focus on creating Sherlock and John and _their_ story, keeping their own relationship out of it. It was especially important given the interview afterwards.

Benedict had spoken to James in the break between the rehearsal and the dress rehearsal. The dress rehearsal was mainly to get the costume changes right, of which there were only a few, and it would be the half hour immediately before the audience came in and were seated. Right now they had a couple of hours to kill. Most of the cast had disappeared, having other things to do or people to meet; Benedict couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather spend time with right now than Martin. He was currently locked in an internal debate – did he or didn’t he go and hang out in Martin’s dressing room? Given the time they had spent together this past week, it wouldn’t be weird for them to hang out together, right? And yet Benedict wasn’t sure how the atmosphere might change. The last thing they needed was anybody coming in and sensing something more than friendship. The media would eat that up and neither of them would get any rest. It would kill their plans for low key visits later this year, too. Sighing, Benedict picked up his phone. Maybe he and Martin could just have a text conversation. Better get used to that, he thought morosely, it was all he’d have for the long weeks while they were on opposite sides of the pond.

“Hey, Benedict,” James’ voice made Benedict jump, and he looked up to see his friend standing in the doorway. “Bad time?”

“Not at all, come in James,” Benedict answered, putting his phone away.

“Today went well, I hear,” James said, taking a seat on the other couch.

Benedict nodded, turning off his phone and dropping it on the seat next to him. “It was good,” he said shortly, wincing as he heard the frustration in his voice. It must have been audible to James too, because he shot Benedict a look, then stood up and closed the door before saying carefully, “Nervous about the shoot?”

“Yeah,” Benedict admitted. He had to think about how he wanted to say this… “A bit different to London, you know?”

“Yeah,” James said soberly, hearing the subtext Benedict had offered. _Martin and I are different, and it’s hard to hide it._ They sat in silence for a few moments before James added, “I’ve written the questions for the interview, d’you want to see?”

“Nah, I trust you.” Benedict replied, a smile on his face. His friend was being so considerate, the least he could do was be appreciative. “Probably better if it doesn’t sound rehearsed.” James nodded, his eyes still speculative.

“What.” Benedict asked flatly, the resolution of polite appreciation evaporating in the heat of his anxiety.

“Nothing," James said, his expression softening. “I just…” he shrugged. “Just checking you’re okay, mate.”

Benedict felt like an arsehole. He leaned forward, resting his face on his hands. “Arrgh,” he groaned, pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eye sockets. He made himself look up to meet James’ eyes. “I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.” Benedict said quietly. “Thank you. I’m just really wanting to get this over with.”

“Well as I said, I’ve got your back,” James said, clapping his hand on Benedict’s shoulder.

“Thanks, mate, I really appreciate it,” Benedict said, hoping James could hear the sincerity in his voice. James raised a hand in parting before opening the door, leaving it ajar as he went back to his own dressing room, presumably. Benedict dropped his head into his hands again. Christ, this was going to be up there as far as difficult days went. And it had to be on international television. Reaching again for his phone, the beep of an incoming text made him jump. It was Martin.

 

_How’s it going in there? Freaking out much?_

 

??

 

_Don’t give me that BS. I can practically here you from here._

 

Benedict frowned, thinking for a moment before a thought came to him, the reply obvious.

 

Tell James to fuck off back to his own dressing room.

 

A burst of raucous laughter from down the hall told Benedict his hunch had been correct – he heard James shout, “See ya, boys!” and shook his head, a grin on his face.

“That’s more like it,” Martin’s voice came from his doorway. He was sure to leave the door open, looking pointedly at Benedict to be sure they both understood. “Nervous?” Martin asked lightly. Benedict could see the look in his eyes was more sober than the tone he had adopted.

“It’s more complex than last time,” Benedict replied, which was true enough. “Plus the ending.”

“Of course,” Martin replied. His back was to the door, so the wry look he shot at Benedict would be lost on all but he.

“Cast seems solid, though,” Martin said.

“They’re a good group,” Benedict agreed. “Aiden and Jon are happy to be doing something a bit comedic.”

“They’ve got good timing,” noted Martin. “The audience is going to love that first part.” He grinned. “And Lucy’s cameo.”

Benedict smirked. “Personal therapist?” he replied. Lucy’s Joan would be tailing Sherlock to ensure he didn’t suffer ‘mental pain or suffering’ from his work and subsequently sue the NYPD. The John/Joan confusion was intense for that short scene, and Benedict was glad he’d worked so much with both Lucy and now Martin to get it to work. It relied on all their comedic timing. Rehearsal had gone well though so they should pull it off.

Martin sighed, seating himself in the chair James had vacated. “Not long now,” he said in a quiet voice.

“That could be interpreted in two ways,” Benedict said. Martin looked at him, searching, eventually shaking his head – he didn’t understand.

“Until the show is over,” Benedict said, then swallowed hard, schooling his voice to be casual and steady, “or until you get to go home.” He hoped Martin would realise the more significant sentence – ‘until you go back’ – was not the way he chose to express it, but it was what he meant.

“I meant the show,” Martin said. Another meaningful look, juxtaposed against the casual voice, “can’t wait to relax in my hotel. I’m exhausted.” Before Benedict could reply, there was a tap at his open door, and a dark head popped in.

“Hiya,” Katie said, adopting the British greeting she’d picked up from somewhere. She introduced herself to Martin, then said firmly, “Look, I’ve got some business to discuss with Ben before you guys get ready, so if you wouldn’t mind, we could do with some space.”

“No problem,” Martin replied. When she turned back to Benedict, he mouthed, ‘ball breaker!’, winked and left, closing the door behind him.

“Charming as always,” Benedict told her, still smiling at Martin’s comment.

“What?” Katie asked, pulling a sheaf of papers from her bag. “That wasn’t all that rude.”

“You hardly gave him a choice, though,” he said.

She stuck him with a look. “Do you want to discuss your still under wraps careers moves in front of him?” she asked, waving the papers around. Benedict gave a tilt of his head that said, ‘fair enough,’ and she moved on. “This is the paperwork for _Frankenstein_.” As Benedict reached eagerly for it, she pulled it back. “Benedict, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. My career, my decision, remember?” He told her. He took her pen a little more forcefully than necessary. “These’ve been looked over, I assume?”

“Yes, nothing needs changing.” She replied. Benedict trusted her, even if she wasn’t all that happy with his decision. She would make sure the contract was what it was meant to be, the pay was right, the dates were right – all he had to do was sign. He always felt a thrill when signing a contract but this was especially good – he couldn’t wait to work with Nick and Johnny in such a challenging role.

“Doing this doesn’t rule out doing more Elementary, you know.” Katie brought up again when he’d finished signing and returned her pen.

“I am not changing my mind, Katie,” Benedict sighed. “I am not interested in doing another season. I will sign on for a one off to wrap up the existing storylines if they want, but that’s it.” When she sat back, looking frustrated, he asked her, “Why are you so hell bent on me doing this? There are offers of other things after this, after _Frankenstein_ , right?”

She nodded. “Then why?” he asked, genuinely wanting to know.

“It’s steady work in an industry known for being fickle, Benedict,” she replied. “I just hate to see you throw that away.”

“Well I am very grateful for your concern,” he said, “I want you to take this as the last conversation about _Elementary_. If they are interested in that one off to tie things up, fine. Hash out the details and ask me to sign, but I don’t want to hear about another season, okay?” He felt awful being so authoritarian, but he’d been clear enough times about it. Besides, he and Martin had plans now.

 

_Interview transcript: The Late Late Show CBS_

James Corden: Okay, we’re going to get straight into it tonight. _[crew member runs in and whispers something in his ear]_ Oh okay, not that straight then. _[laughter]_ But we’re not going to wait, that’s my point. _[crew member runs in and whispers something in his ear]_ Alright, alright, they’ve been waiting since, like 1895. Anyway, we’ve been waiting since last week. Here it is, the second instalment of _Sherlocked_ , all the way from London, England – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson!

_[Fade in; camera on warehouse set. Sherlocked performance runs smoothly.]_

_[Benedict and Martin make their way to the couch beside James’ desk; Benedict has pulled on Sherlock’s discarded shirt, Martin can’t find John’s jumper. Eventually, James takes off his coat jacket and gives it to Martin. Laughter as everyone realises how much too big it is. Before anyone can speak, a crew member runs in with one of Martin’s t shirts]_

James: Well that was a bit exciting.

Martin: For you maybe. The Hobbit jokes do get a bit old, you know. It doesn’t help when I’m sitting here looking like I’m wearing one of my dad’s jackets and I’m ten years old. _[laughter]_

James: I was talking about _Sherlocked_ , but I’m sure there would be some ladies and gents in the audience that would have appreciated the extra moments of your bare chest. _[catcalls, both male and female]_ See?

Martin: Yeah, thanks. Let’s talk about the show, shall we?

Benedict: Good idea. _[to James]_ mind out of the gutter, mate. This is a family show, right?

James: Um, no. _[laughter]_ So I was glad you didn’t die, then.

Benedict: Um, me too? _[laughter]_

James: I just mean it was a real cliffhanger after the first episode, but this one ended much nicer.

Benedict: Well they had to make sure people would tune in, obviously. It is very late, you know.

James: Yes, thank you. I’m sure people would be watching anyway. My mum has her alarm set and everything. _[laughter]_

Benedict: I just mean if it was rubbish we at least wanted the cliffhanger bit to reel people in, you know.

James: Yeah, I know. Pretty sure people who didn’t tune in will be looking at this online, though, after that ending. _[spontaneous applause]_

Martin: Yes, the fans will love the ending. I’m wondering if any of your writers are fans, actually.

James: No, not that I know of…

_[Cut to steadycam: shot of a door labelled ‘Corden’s writers’. Door swings open, inside the room is plastered with Benedict and Martin posters; all the staff are wearing t-shirts and looking at DVDs or fanart. One woman is kissing a lifesized cutout of Benedict. Laughter]_

Benedict: Well, I’d say we’re lucky we didn’t get anything more explicit.

James: Oh you should have seen the first draft. _[catcalls and applause]_

Martin: I was surprised they, I mean the network, even okayed what we had, to be honest. The BBC, that screens _Sherlock,_ I can’t see them being alright with two men kissing unless it was a documentary or something, you know what I mean?

James: Yeah, it’s funny what they’re okay with and not okay with. I mean, this was okay _[cut away of Benedict and Martin as Sherlock and John chastely kissing at the end of Sherlocked on Corden]_ but I’m not sure this would be acceptable _[cut away of Martin in ‘Love Actually’, a nude scene where he’s a stand in on a porn set. Laughter]_

Martin: Oh, yeah, I mean that’s… _[shakes head]_

James: Anyway, let’s not get sucked into talking about the Sherlock fandom, I’ve heard you can check out any time you like but you can never leave, so… _[band strikes up ‘Hotel California’ by the Eagles. Scattered laughter and applause]_

Benedict: _[clapping]_ Nice.

James: Thank you. Now, Benedict. I won’t ask you all the stuff you already talked about on Norton. Let’s talk about penguins instead.

Martin: Oh this should be good.

Benedict: Oh no!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> META NOTES  
> *Martin was in Love Actually, playing a man who meets his girlfriend when they're the nude stand ins for a porno movie. Considering how crass it *could* be, the scenes are actually cute and funny.


	14. Chapter 14

“God, I’m so glad that’s over.” Benedict sighed. He knew it was unprofessional to say it aloud but honestly, the last few days had been agony. Actually it had been a weird combination of elation (finding Martin), anticipation (doing _Sherlocked_ with Martin), anxiety (keeping things under wraps), and impatience (wanting to get to this point, where everything was finished). Now, though, it was relief. The interview had gone well, James had deflected cleverly from the potential furore around he and Martin’s relationship by bringing up the penguins. It was hardly new, but Benedict would have happily talked about his documentary commentary all night if it had kept conversation off _Sherlocked_ and the chemistry between the actors. They’d finished their bit before the show was over and Benedict had left immediately, something that was generally frowned on. He hoped James would understand with the text he’d sent.

 

_Thanks James. I owe you. I’ll call you tomorrow. – Benedict_

 

He hadn’t received a reply, which wasn’t surprising. The show was only just finishing up, and James would surely have commitments afterwards. Benedict knew he would be begging forgiveness instead of asking permission, but he didn’t care, and the reason was sitting on the other side of the cab. He glanced over at Martin, who was reading on his phone and didn’t look up. They’d been short with each other since meeting outside the green room right after the interview. Benedict had changed clothes and that was it – he still wore Sherlock’s hair and makeup, so impatient was he to leave. It was reassuring to find Martin waiting for him, also still half-way to his _Sherlocked_ character. They had smiled tightly at each other, neither speaking as they found a cab. Benedict had given the address of the hotel, and they’d talked briefly about the interview before both gave up on the conversation. None of the words meant anything, at least to Benedict; he had a wellspring of things to say, things he wanted Martin to know. A cab was not the right place for that conversation though, so Benedict held his tongue, watching the street sliding past as they drove.

When the door of Benedict’s room clicked closed behind him, he was already halfway across the room, unlocking his side of the connecting door to Martin’s room. He could hear the fumbling on the other side as Martin did the same, and within seconds they were staring at each other across the threshold. As Benedict opened his mouth, Martin grinned and spoke.

“You’re still way too Sherlock, I half expect you to roll your eyes and say something derisive about my observational abilities.”

Obligingly, Benedict spoke in Sherlock’s voice. “As usual, Watson, you – oof!” Before he had a chance to finish what he was saying, Martin made an exasperated noise, stepped forward and tangled one hand into Sherlock’s carefully crafted curls. Benedict felt Martin’s fingers curl, tugging on the follicles, sending shivers of electricity around his scalp.

It must have been evident on his face because Martin grinned, murmuring, “So that’s what makes you shut up,” his lips brushing Benedict’s as he spoke, before he pulled the taller man down into a kiss. Benedict kissed him back, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, the relief coursing through his body. It was the comfort of finally being able to touch Martin, to kiss him after so many hours of being close without being able to express his affection.

“Mmmmm,” Martin purred, pulling back to kiss along Benedict’s jaw. Benedict shivered again, more electricity coursing through him, radiating from his jaw this time.

“Urgh,” sputtered Martin, pulling back. When Benedict opened his eyes he saw the look of disgust on Martin’s face.

“What?” asked Benedict, concerned.

“Makeup,” Martin said, and Benedict understood immediately. It tasted terrible, as he well knew. Before he could think about what he was saying, Benedict said, “I should take a shower.” When he saw the look on Martin’s face, something between amused and aroused, a lump appeared in Benedict’s throat. It felt like a turning point. He and Martin looked at each other, and Benedict knew that it was up to him to make a decision. Staring at Martin’s calm face, the patience and acceptance shone from every pore. It birthed a new confidence in Benedict, and he felt a smile spread across his face.

“We should take a shower,” Benedict corrected, his voice more tentative than he’d hoped.

“Together?” asked Martin.

“Yes.” Benedict was determined to be clear, and he watched Martin’s smile bloom until he looked as pleased as Benedict felt.

“Yours or mine?” Martin asked, and the theatrical wiggling of his eyebrows broke the escalating tension.

“Mine,” replied Benedict, looking pointedly at the mess all over Martin’s room. “I’m not sure I’d be able to find yours.”

“Oi,” Martin protested through his smile. He pressed another quick kiss to Benedict’s mouth. “I’ll meet you there.” Benedict nodded as Martin turned back into his own room to collect his things. He turned his own back, breathing deeply as he sat on his bed, thinking about this decision. He was nervous, certainly, but the positive emotions outweighed the negative. Overall, he trusted Martin and wanted to be closer to him. He was resolutely not thinking about how little time they had together before Martin left for London once more. Although they had plans for the future, Benedict wanted to celebrate, to cement their new relationship with something…more. This felt right. As Martin appeared in the doorway, Benedict grinned up at him.

“Ready?” he asked. Martin nodded and held out one hand, an invitation and opportunity to reaffirm his decision.

+++

“I could fall asleep right now,” murmured Martin, yawning widely. It was still early, though they’d showered, and were dressed in pyjama trousers and t-shirts, sitting on the floor of Benedict’s room. The shower had been a bonding experience, for all that Benedict generally disliked the phrase. Intimate and quiet, the steam and heat lending a surreal quality to it, swirling around them as they’d shared the large space. They’d spoken in low voices as soap and water sluiced over bodies, hands exploring and worshipping. Benedict had washed his own hair, Sherlock’s curls falling out as the water cascaded over his head.

“I wanted to do that,” Martin had pouted, watching Benedict’s fingers run through his long hair.

“Next time,” replied Benedict, and the promise of future shared showers had made them both smile. Benedict pressed a spontaneous kiss to Martin’s hairline, glad the makeup had washed away. He’d had been a bit apprehensive about being naked and wet in a confined space – what were the expectations here? – but despite their naked proximity they both seemed content to simply be together. Benedict knew he’d been semi-hard before they’d even stepped into the shower, and a furtive glance told him Martin had been in the same state. One of the advantages of age, Benedict had thought to himself, you’ve learned to ignore inconvenient erections. Removing the sex made the experience far more emotional, and Benedict was now more certain than ever about the tentative commitment he and Martin had made to each other. Now, warm and clean with full bellies they sat on the floor, two spoons and an empty ice-cream bowl discarded on the floor between them.

“I wanted to tell you something.” Benedict said suddenly. “Two things, actually.”

Martin raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Do you remember that rehearsal the other day, we were talking about Katie. I was explaining who she is, and I stopped in the middle of a sentence.”

Martin nodded. “You said you’d finish that sentence for me later.”

“Yes,” replied Benedict. He paused, thinking about how he wanted to phrase it. Martin’s fingers caressed his skin, fingers rubbing circles into his ankle. The small contact made him smile, and the words came clearly to his tongue. “I said, that it hadn’t mattered that Katie wanted a say in every decision in my life,” he reminded Martin. “I said it hadn’t mattered until now, I haven’t…” Benedict paused in the same place, then continued to the end of his sentence. “I haven’t cared about anyone else enough to ask them instead. I haven’t had anyone else to consider.” Heart pounding with the admission, Benedict raised his eyes to meet Martin’s.

“And now…” prompted Martin, his eyes soft.

“And now I do,” the reply came immediately. Benedict was relieved to see a huge smile break across Martin’s face.

“Me too,” said Martin, squeezing Benedict’s ankle. They sat in the warmth of that admission for a moment, before Martin asked, “What’s the other thing?”

“What?” asked Benedict, blinking at him in confusion. “Oh!” he grinned. “I signed the contract this morning for the West End show.”

“Really.” Martin sounded casual, but the even bigger smile on his face told Benedict he was excited to hear it. “Can you tell me about it?”

“Well, Katie says not,” Benedict started, “but I don’t care.”

“She’s not going to like me, is she?” Martin asked dryly.

“Probably not, but again, I don’t care,” retorted Benedict happily. “Anyway, I am definitely done with _Elementary_. I’ve told Katie I’ll do a one off special if they want to wrap things up, but only if they ask. I doubt they’ll give up so easily but…”

“You don’t care?” supplied Martin, and Benedict touched his nose conspiratorially.

“I’ve signed to do _Frankenstein_ with Nick Dear. Alternating the man and the monster with Johnny Lee Miller.” Benedict summarised, watching Martin’s face morph through surprise, excitement and pleasure. It was clear he was happy for Benedict, and watching him derive pleasure from Benedict’s good news made Benedict happier.

“So that means you’ll be back in London…” Martin asked.

“Four months. Maybe less.” Benedict replied. “Hopefully to stay.”

“Excellent.” Martin’s satisfaction was evident. “So I’ll be over here late next week, then you’ll be on set for Avengers for a few weeks, you’ll wrap things up in New York...”

“And then,” Benedict said, pulling his legs under him and crawling across the small space, “I will move back to London.” He sat next to Martin, not sure enough yet to straddle him, though he knew he would be one day, maybe even soon. “Immediately. As soon as possible.”

“We’ll live in the same city.” Martin pointed out, one hand sliding across Benedict’s chest to settle on his shoulder.

“We will,” replied Benedict.                     

“We’ll do the same Comicons,” Martin suggested, pushing his fingers into Benedict’s hair.

“Making girls ovaries explode together,” said Benedict, loving the giggle Martin made at the idea.

“How will Katie react to all this?” Martin asked, his mouth twitching.

Benedict tilted his head, eyes laughing as he replied emphatically, “I don’t care.” As Martin moved in to kiss him again, a move that thrilled him to the core, Benedict murmured, “I don’t care what she thinks. I’m crossing the pond. Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's all, folks! Thank you for reading this, especially if you've been patient as I've been distracted by shiny things like NaNoWriMo. I've enjoyed the logistics of this story and the challenges of weaving real people and projects into the narrative. I hope you've enjoyed it too! <3
> 
> Meta Notes (repeated from chapter 11)  
> *Benedict and Johnny Lee Miller (who plays Sherlock in RL Elementary) alternated the roles of the man and the monster in Nick Dear’s adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in 2011. Please don’t think that pinpoints the dates of this story; it’s a coincidence.


End file.
